


In the Spaces Between

by everylosttouch



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Chemist Magnus Bane, Discussions of Addiction and Relapses, Discussions of Faith, Doctor Alec Lightwood, Family, Five Stages of Grief, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loss, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mentions of Abusive Relationships, Minor Violence, Neurosurgeon Alec Lightwood, POV Magnus Bane, Pretending to know medical terminology, Professor Magnus Bane, Referenced Drug Addiction, References to Drugs, Sickfic, Slow-ish burn, fluff if you squint, i earned my medical degree on google, lots of introspection, malec will be ok, the writer is an asshole, ungodly amounts of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-11 13:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 61,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everylosttouch/pseuds/everylosttouch
Summary: He sits there in silence, counting the beeps of the monitor and the pulse of the ventilator. The hand he holds is far colder than he expects, and he wonders just how long he has left until he loses it all.A story of love, of loss, and of the importance of a person.[note: the mcd tag refers to a major character ofthisstory, not necessarily major canon characters]





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Before you all begin, there are a few things to note:
> 
> 1\. Please read the tags. This is a serious fic that covers serious topics. In no way am I attempting to romanticize these topics or downplay them in any way.  
2\. This fic contains **Major Character Death**. If you are uncomfortable with these types of fics or are sensitive to graphic depictions of losing someone, please take caution in reading or do not read at all.
> 
> Edit: please note that “Major Character” does not mean that it is automatically one of the major characters (main 8) of the show. The term here pertains to the literary definition, where the character contributes significantly to the plot of **this** story, not the show. 
> 
> If you are reading, I'll be following #ntsbfic over on twitter c:  
Also, I'd like to give a huge thanks to my beta reader Elle (@BytheAngell), and Bri (@carmenlire) who stuck with me through this and helped tackle this emotional monster.
> 
> Listen to the Spotify playlist:  
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1faDzrlkLcCR2l9szq9nhC?si=2x0_3cQTQXW20EYUj3jl_Q&nd=1

_"In the spaces between life and death, we come to understand the importance of our existence just a little bit more."_

To my grandad and my grandmother, to Greg, and to Thelma,

May you rest well.

X

Magnus really hates hospitals.

There’s not much justification to it. He just hates them. They’re always cold, frigid to the point that it feels like an ice box. They’re always silent, the only noises are hushed chatter amongst the doctors outside and the machines that beep steadily around him. The whole atmosphere feels cold and detached, feeling more like a prison than a place of treatment.

God, he really hates hospitals.

And yet—here he is, sitting in a chair far too uncomfortable, hunched over a bed holding on to a hand as if he’s afraid of letting go. Magnus sits there in silence, counting the beeps of the heart monitor and the pulse of the ventilator. The hand in his feels far too cold, and he can’t help but wonder just how long he has left until he loses him once and for all.

“Magnus?”

The call of his name brings him out of the lulled state of consciousness, out of the limbo he constantly faltered into since he’s been here. Magnus turns towards the source of the voice to find a nurse standing in the doorway. She wears a worried look, and Magnus’ shoulder’s slouch, lip quivering as he turns towards her.

“C-Cat,” Magnus stammers.

He rises from that god-awful chair, ready to let go of the hand he holds. But Catarina moves quicker, closing the space between them and just hugging him so tightly. Magnus lets it out—_ finally _—as he cradles himself in her embrace. His hands release the one on the bed, coming to wrap around Catarina’s frame. They’re trembling, as if he’s been caught in the far-too-frigid September cold outside. His breath shudders and seethes as he cries.

Catarina is silent for the most part, hands coming up to rub against the shaven fringe of his hair. She lets out a singular hum, a low and gentle thrum echoing in the pit of her esophagus. He can feel the reverberations gently against his chest as his fingers fist into her scrubs.

It takes a long while until he’s able to come down. Magnus pulls away gently, face a mess of tears and snot, breath shaky and eyes heavy. He falters back into the chair, knees too weak to stand as he looks back to the hand he abandoned, lying motionless against the crisp white sheets of the bed.

“I came as soon as I could,” Catarina says, looking over to the bed. “How long has it been?”

Magnus reaches back out, fingers brushing delicately against the back of the hand in front of him before his fingers secure around the appendage once more. “Only a couple of hours.”

“Has the doctor come in yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ve been waiting for—”

A knock spurs the both of them out of the conversation—or what little attempt at conversation it was. They both turn towards the door and Catarina angles just enough to where Magnus can see the young doctor standing in the doorway.

“Ms. Loss,” the doctor says, voice baritone yet somewhat stern. “I believe Dr. Stevenson is waiting for you upstairs.”

His tone is curt and just a touch harsh, and Magnus feels Catarina stiffen slightly as she pulls back. That familiar comfort she exudes disappears completely, and Magnus already feels the dread settling back under his skin.

“R-Right,” she stammers, taking a step away from Magnus. Her eyes are sad, pleading with wordless apologies as she separates from him. “I’ll try to come back when my rotations are done, alright?”

“Okay,” Magnus forces out, though the words crack the minute they leave his lips. He gives Cat another look, silently begging to stay. He knows it’s not fair, she has a job saving lives, lives more important than his, than—

“Ms. Loss,” the doctor repeats, and that’s it. The bond between them is shattered and Catarina is rushing away, darting out of the room and leaving him alone. The frigid air of the room rushes in all at once, suddenly chilling him to the bone. There’s no more warmth, just the steady sound of a heart monitor and the chilling sounds signaling the cusp of death.

God, he really fucking hates hospitals.

“Are you Dr. Bane?” the doctor perks up, dark eyes rising from where they concentrate on the clipboard.

Magnus swallows, opening and closing his lips to try and find the words to speak again. “Y-Yes,” he manages outward. “I’m Ragnor’s emergency contact.”

The doctor looks back down to his clipboard, writing something down before asking “Are you family?”

Magnus shakes his head. “No, not technically. But,” he turns back towards the bed, back to the face of his companion. He walks over and rests his hands over Ragnor’s squeezing slightly. “I’m the closest thing he has left.”

There’s another silence that blankets the room, the scribblings of the doctor’s pen and the beeping of the monitor are the only other sounds in the room. Finally, he stills. “Alright,” he perks up, clicking his pen. “Dr. Lightwood will be in shortly. Just wait a few more minutes.”

Magnus’ brows furrow, looking back to the doctor. “You’re not his doctor?”

The doctor looks up and shakes his head. “No, Dr. Lightwood sent me to ensure someone was here before he came in. He was running a bit behind, but he should be here soon.”

Magnus’ shoulders slouch as he sits back in the chair he’s been sitting in for the past few hours. He watches as the doctor silently slips out the doorway before turning his eyes back to his friend.

Ragnor sits motionless in the bed, head wrapped in a series of bandages and a ventilator strapped to his face. His hair has been cut off—probably as a result of emergency surgery—and Magnus can’t help the lurch in his stomach at how sickly he looks. Despite his injuries, Ragnor’s eyes are shut, dark lashes against pale cheeks. He looks almost like he’s sleeping peacefully.

But he’s not.

“Forgive me for the delay, Dr. Bane,” another voice—deeper and baritone—rings out. Magnus looks up just in time to see the dark-haired doctor draw the curtain across the doorway for privacy. He turns back towards Magnus, giving Magnus the chance to take in his stubbly jawline and emerald-hazel eyes. He gives a sad smile before introducing himself. “I’m Dr. Lightwood.”

Magnus doesn’t shake the hand he extends, instead giving it a solemn look before turning back towards Ragnor.

“Are you aware of what happened?” Dr. Lightwood asks quietly, stepping closer towards the bed.

“He had an aneurysm,” Magnus states plainly. “But I’m sure you already know that.”

The doctor nods minutely, trailing his eyes back down to his clipboard. “Yes. It was a cerebral aneurysm, and a rather severe one at that. We ran a CT scan and we were able to determine a significant amount of hemorrhaging caused by the aneurysm rupturing.” He swallows thickly before continuing. “We did a craniotomy to alleviate the pressure in his brain and clip the aneurysm, but it was clear that the hemorrhaging caused an extensive amount of damage.”

Magnus closes his eyes slowly, head hanging down as he rests it against the edge of the bed. “How bad is it?” he asks, voice cracking slightly with the words.

“From our initial scans, the hemorrhaging originates in the middle of the primary motor cortex. As the name implies, that section of the brain is responsible for most motor movements, such as movements of the legs, arms, and face.” He pauses briefly, and Magnus loses his breath instantly, clinging onto the hand that anchors him to this room, this moment. “The hemorrhaging wasn’t severe enough to kill him. However, I’m afraid that if he wakes up, he may be unable to move or talk much at all.”

_ If. _

God just the word has Magnus’ mind spinning. _ If _ he wakes up, _ if _ he makes it, _ if _ Magnus gets to see his rumpled frown and furrowed brow once more—

He bites back his gasping cry, but it forces itself out, coming out as a crumpled whimper.

“And _ if _ he does?” Magnus asks breathlessly, throat suddenly dry and scratchy. “What then?”

Dr. Lightwood swallows thickly as Magnus’ eyes meet his own. “I…We’d have to assess how severe his paralysis is. In any case, he’d need therapy to ensure that his muscles won’t atrophy, and there’s a possibility he may require the assistance of crutches or a wheelchair. Once he’s deemed well enough and discharged, he’d be free to live as he did before, just—"

“Just unable to move and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life,” Magnus spits out angrily. He shakes his head, giving out a disbelieving huff. “In what world could you think he could go back to living as he did before?! The man is a _ teacher, _ a researcher, a journalist! Life took him everywhere, and now—” His bottom lip quivers as he looks back to the man lying in the bed. “Now he’s here. Unable to move for the rest of his life.”

That deafening silence falls between them once more as Magnus’ spiteful words echo into the room. Magnus isn’t quite sure what he expects in return, whether he expects a sense of false hope from the doctor or whether he’ll condemn Ragnor to a life hooked up to wires and monitors.

“Dr. Bane, I’m sorry—”

“_ Don’t _ ,” Magnus bites back. “Don’t say it.” He shakes his head back and forth. “He’s not _ dead _ . He isn’t going to die. He _ can’t _ die. I can’t lose him. Not now…”

There’s another beat of silence before Dr. Lightwood starts. “I know, and I will try to do what I can to ensure he makes a steady recovery. We’ll continue to monitor him, take brain scans and—”

“Oh don’t give me those bullshit lines,” Magnus interrupts. “Go blow smoke up someone else’s ass.” He frowns deeply before speaking once more. “Surely you have other people’s lives to ruin today. How about you go and get a head start on that?”

Dr. Lightwood promptly closes his mouth, as if he’s stopping himself from saying anything back. He simply nods his head before looking down at his board. “Jennifer is the head nurse on shift right now. If you need anything or if anything changes, she’s right outside at the front desk.” With another glance to Magnus, he straightens up. “Otherwise, I will be back before the end of my shift to see how he’s doing.”

With that, Dr. Lightwood steps out. Magnus doesn’t bother to acknowledge the doctor’s last statement, instead trailing his gaze back to his friend, carefully gliding his thumb across the back of Ragnor’s hand. He just wants to be alone, to wallow in his thoughts. He isn’t sure what he hates more, sitting in this room with no knowledge of the damage Ragnor suffered or knowing that his friend may very well never wake up again. In any sense, he feels hopeless. He was too late. He had waited too long, gone without so much as a word for so long and now he’s too late. He’s wasted so much time thanks to his pride.

And now, now it feels like there’s no time left.

X

Sometimes he forgets that there is never a moment of peace in a hospital.

Just when he settles in, gets as comfortable as possible as he can in this god-awful chair, there are nurses, physicians, and doctors coming in and looking at charts, taking down statistics, tapping at monitors and taking Ragnor’s vitals. It’s far from comforting, seeing all of them rushing around, prodding and poking at his friend. He stays with Ragnor through it all, however, hands still holding Ragnor’s as he had been before.

It’s exhausting being here, sitting by Ragnor’s bedside and listening to the heart monitor and ventilator beep and pulse with every passing minute. He hates the constant looming guilt and ache that blooms in his chest. He’s unable to shake away the reality of the situation, that Ragnor is here, comatose and unresponsive, practically dead where he lies.

_ No. _

Magnus shakes his head. Ragnor isn’t dead. Ragnor’s not dying. _ He can’t die _.

Not now.

He looks back up at his friend, taking the time to analyze all the features he hadn’t had the heart to before. The sheets he lies under are a crisp, vibrant white, untainted by any dirt or stain or spill. They pull up to Ragnor’s waist, shielding his legs from the chill of the room around them. Running his hands over the quilted cover on top reveals the delicate pattern etched into the seams. It’s manufactured—far from handmade—and all Magnus can think of is the quilt Ragnor has in his flat from his late grandmother, the woman he looked up to more than anything.

He huffs a breath of disbelief. _ Like grandmother like grandson, right _?

A knock at the door startles him from his thoughts, and he turns to look over his shoulder. He expects another nurse, since it’s probably time for them to start poking and prodding at Ragnor again. But to his surprise, it isn’t. Instead, the young doctor from before hovers in the doorway.

Now Magnus had seen him before. But with the blur that was this afternoon, he hadn’t really _ seen _ him. Exhaustion is written all over the doctor’s face, in the bags darkening under his eyes, in the rumpled scrubs he’s probably fallen asleep in at some point. There’s a scent of blood that follows him—probably from performing Ragnor’s surgery—as well. His eyes, those hazel-emerald dreams, look just a hint lifeless, like all the passion he has is suddenly gone. Magnus wonders if he shares the same look.

“Hey,” Dr. Lightwood greets softly with an accompanying sad smile. “I’m coming by to check up on Mr. Fell—”

“It’s Doctor,” Magnus interrupts.

Dr. Lightwood nods. “R-Right. Just to check up on Dr. Fell.” His smile falters, but his gaze does not. “We have a couple more tests to run, so Jennifer will come to escort you out of the room in about seven minutes so we can work.” The doctor seems to immediately notice Magnus’ tense form. “We aren’t trying to kick you out, but it’s hospital policy. I know it’s late, so if you want to go home and get some rest, you can always come back to see him tomorrow morning, or—"

“If there even _ is _ a tomorrow,” Magnus cuts in bitterly. He looks back to Ragnor, lip quivering slightly as he draws in a breath. “He’s still in critical condition, still comatose, and still trying to stabilize. How do you know that he’ll survive the night like this? How do you know that he won’t die in this bed, without anyone watching over him, just alone and as miserable as he never wanted to be and—" Magnus stops, breath shuddering. “ _ Please _ … _ Please _don’t make me leave him.”

He’s pleading, hoping for the impossible, for the slightest chance he can stay by Ragnor’s side. He’s lost so much time with Ragnor already because of his stupidity. He can’t afford to waste any more.

“_ I’m sorry _,” the doctor’s voice resounds, full of sorrow and apology.

Magnus knows what he’ll say next, and yet his grip on Ragnor’s hand tightens. His shoulders seize up in anticipation. They’ll have to force him out of this room, have to pry away his fingers from Ragnor’s. He’s not leaving. He _ can’t. _

Despite his resolve, the doctor closes the space between them, resting his hand on Magnus’ shoulder delicately. “He’ll make it, Dr. Bane.”

Magnus shakes his head. “You don’t _ know _ that,” he argues.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Dr. Lightwood agrees. “But what I do know is that the pressure in his brain has decreased dramatically. Despite the signs, his vitals have stabilized significantly from where they were a few hours ago. I know it may seem bleak right now, but you just have to believe that he will pull through. He’s already showing signs towards recovery, and we will be monitoring him throughout the night to ensure he stabilizes as quickly as possible.”

There’s conviction in the words he speaks. There’s hardly any force behind his tone, and Magnus can tell with each word the doctor speaks, it’s genuine. Though a doctor can never be certain their patient will make it, Dr. Lightwood still has hope. Even though he has the CT scans, knows the extent of the damage, smells vaguely of blood even though he’s been out of the OR for hours, he still has hope.

It’s both frustrating and uplifting.

Frustrating, because Magnus wants to argue, to cry and scream just how impossible it is for Ragnor to survive the night. Uplifting—however so slightly—by instilling just the faintest bit of hope that Ragnor can make it, that there will be another day, that there may be a future where Ragnor can live on.

He feels torn, unable to choose whether he wants to hope for the impossible or prepare for the inevitable.

Before he can choose, there’s a knock at the door. Magnus tenses, fingers rubbing against Ragnor’s. _ He’s cold— _ Magnus thinks. _ He’ll need another blanket. He hates the cold and— _

“Dr. Lightwood, we’re ready.”

_ But I’m not _ , Magnus sobs inwardly. He’s not ready to let go. _ Not yet. I still haven’t— _

There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder once more, squeezing once. “Dr. Bane,” Dr. Lightwood calls, voice soft and soothing. “He’s not going anywhere. I promise you.”

Promises are taboo for doctors. Nothing is certain. And yet, the young doctor promises this to him. That same conviction is there, accompanied by another—tighter—squeeze at his shoulder.

With a deep, uneven breath, Magnus leans forward, pressing a kiss against the back of Ragnor’s hand. Tight lipped and furrowed brow, he kisses the skin that’s far too cold and unresponsive. If this is the last time he holds Ragnor’s hand, he wants to remember the coarseness of Ragnor’s fingertips, the slight dust of hair on his knuckles, the scent of old books that always clings to him.

All too soon—far too soon—Magnus pulls away, puffing a breath against Ragnor’s skin in a fruitless attempt to provide some warmth to his friend. He can’t open his eyes, can’t watch as he lets Ragnor’s fingers slip from his, back to the bed he’s confined to. He stands, choking back sobs with shuddered breaths. He must look a mess in front of the staff, an utter embarrassment. But he doesn’t look. He can’t.

“Here,” the doctor’s warm voice calls, hand pressing against the plane of Magnus’ back. His touch is gentle against Magnus’ shaking frame, and there’s heat simmering in his hands. “Let me walk you down.”

X

It isn’t until they reach the lobby that the hand on Magnus’ back disappears. He steps back a moment to meet Magnus’ eyes. “The nurses and I will be keeping an eye on him throughout the night,” Dr. Lightwood says softly, trying fruitlessly to console Magnus. Magnus knows he’s trying to instill some positivity, some ease that Ragnor will be okay without instilling unrealistic hopes that nothing bad will happen. There’s no guarantee that Ragnor won’t die, and the uncertainty of that fact keeps Magnus’ heart anchored in the lobby.

“Promise me,” he breathes out, his hands absentmindedly finding the edges of the doctor’s coat. Shaky fingers close around the fabric and he steels himself, speaking in another hushed, harsh tone. “Promise me you won’t leave him alone. He can’t be alone. He can’t suffer by himself. Even if it’s Catarina during her breaks or even the janitor, just please _ please _ promise me you won’t leave him in that bed to be forgotten.” His lower lip trembles and he can’t quite meet the doctor’s eyes. “ _ Please. _”

It’s a heavy burden, he knows. There are so many more people they could be focusing on and saving instead of nursing some bedridden, unconscious, comatose man. But he can’t leave this lobby without knowing that someone, anyone will volunteer to watch over him.

“Okay,” Dr. Lightwood agrees calmly. The acceptance shocks Magnus, causing him to lift his heavy head and overlook all the features splayed across his face. The doctor looks gravely serious, with a woeful glow to those hazel eyes and lips turned down slightly in a frown. “I’ll do what I can to make sure he isn’t alone, only if you can promise me you’ll go home and get some rest.”

Rest? How could he rest when his friend is just a few floors up lying on his deathbed? Rest was the last thing on Magnus’ mind, even if his body was pleading for some sort of relief.

Nevertheless, he nods minutely, mumbling a half-hearted promise that he will. But knowing him, he won’t. He won’t rest. Instead he’ll drown himself in the regret and shame that swirls in his chest. He’ll grade the rest of those worksheets he has to hand back tomorrow. He’ll cry—probably a lot—and then he’ll down copious amounts of—

Magnus stops, shaking his head. _ No. _ He won’t do that. He _ can’t _.

He has to be strong.

“Do I need to call you a cab?” The doctor asks, hand pressed delicately against Magnus’ upper arm. The warmth of his touch seeps through the silken fabric of Magnus’ shirt, and there’s comfort there, a comfort he’s been seeking ever since he stepped foot in the hospital.

“I—”

“I’ll take him home,” another voice perks up. Both of them turn to see Catarina coming up towards him. She’s got her purse slung across her torso and she’s changed from her wine-colored scrubs into an oversized, long sleeved sweater and jeans. She steps forward, wearing a welcoming smile, though Magnus can see the sadness in her eyes. “Are you ready?”

_ No, I’m not ready. Please let me stay, _ Magnus thinks.

“Yeah,” he says instead, though he’s certain that Catarina can hear the lie in his voice. He forces a smile as Catarina comes up to him, patting his back, walking him out of the hospital. As they walk, Magnus looks over his shoulder, back to the lobby where he was moments before. The young doctor has disappeared, and the waiting room appears to have returned to its seemingly normal state. Yet Magnus feels nothing but dread in his bones, and as they part from the hospital, Magnus feels like he’s leaving something important behind.

_ Ragnor just needs to survive the night _, he thinks to himself.

But the night is long, and the uncertainty in his bones settles its heavy weight in his chest.

He just needs to survive the night, then maybe Magnus can breathe a sigh of relief.

X

The ride is quiet.

Too quiet.

The radio is playing on a low volume, low enough where Magnus can barely hear the tune or the words. Catarina has put on the heat, combating the bone-chilling cold of the night outside. Magnus shivers regardless.

“He’s in a coma,” Catarina informs, effectively breaking the silence. “It’s normal after undergoing a procedure like that.”

“…How long will he be like that?”

Catarina’s lips form a line. “There’s no guarantee. He’ll be taken off sedatives in time, but it doesn’t mean he’ll immediately wake from the coma once he’s off them. I’ve seen comas that only last a few days and I’ve seen others that last months.” Her grip on the wheel tightens and her tone turns the faintest hint grim. “Some never come out of them.”

Magnus balls a fist, fingers shaking against the fabric of his slacks. “He’s going to make it,” he says, though his voice wavers slightly. “He has to.”

Silence falls between them again, stiff and tense and uncomfortable. Magnus looks down to his hands, picking at the dark polish on his thumbnail that’s just begun to chip.

“Do you hate me?”

Magnus’ question earns a surprised look from Catarina. “What?” she asks incredulously. “Why would I ever hate you?”

He picks at the polish once more. “I haven’t seen Ragnor in almost a year. I didn’t reach out, never came to him until I got the call from the hospital, until he suffered a brain bleed that’s placed him in a coma he may never come out from.” He takes a breath, though its shaky. The exhale is just as rattling, and he furrows his brow and bites his lip in attempts to stifle the tears that threaten to fall. “I didn’t come back until he was like this. Don’t you hate me for that?”

The car rolls to a stop as they wait for the light. “You had your reasons,” Catarina states coolly. “Besides, it’s not the first time you’ve shut someone out.” She gives him a small half-smile and a light pat to Magnus’ let. The red glow caressing her face turns green, and she retracts her hand, pulling her attention back to the road. “I knew you two would see each other again. I just didn’t imagine it’d be under these pretenses.”

As they reach another intersection, Catarina turns the corner, slowing down as she pulls up to Magnus’ townhome. She shifts gears, putting the car in park before leaning back in the seat with a sigh. Silence falls over them once again, letting the weight of the day soak in.

“What do we do, Cat?” Magnus asks hopelessly.

“We take it day by day,” Catarina responds. She looks back over at Magnus again, and they give each other a sad smile. “The most we can do is just…be there for him. The rest is up to Ragnor.” She leans over to pat Magnus’ leg a couple of times as she speaks. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll come by tomorrow, and we can go and get Waffle House with Raph.” She gives a brighter smile, squeezing Magnus’ knee slightly. “We can even get your favorite.”

Magnus can’t help but let the fond smile slip. It sounds nice, the kind of normality he needs in his life right now. “Thank you,” he says quietly, resting his hand on top of Catarina’s. “I’d love that. What time?”

“Eight?” She smiles again when Magnus nods in agreement. “Alright then. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” Magnus affirms. Catarina leans forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek, giving him another look of endearment. Magnus smiles back, and with one last squeeze of her hand, he pulls away, opening the car door and stepping out into the chilly September air. He turns away from the car, ascending those familiar stone steps until he’s stationed at his door. With one last wave to Catarina, he steps inside.

X

Magnus hates his home.

He didn’t used to hate it, but now he does with a constantly growing displeasure.

It’s not because of the design or the layout. He actually quite likes the color scheme, the wine-red walls and gold accents, and appreciates the view that the large living room windows give. The bedroom is cozy too, with thick duvets he can get lost in for hours after a tiring day at the university. The kitchen has plenty of cupboards for storage and has the potential to cook meals—though he rarely partakes in that luxury.

He remembers falling in love with the place initially, how he had come in and analyzed the bare bones of it and just _ knew _ it was the place for him. It’s carried so many good memories.

But now, home just leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Coming home from the hospital was supposed to lift this weight from his shoulders, to ease this ache in his chest, to forget the looming regret eternally present over his head. But he can’t forget, not here.

Because Ragnor is everywhere in his home.

There are old pictures of him, Ragnor, Catarina, and Raphael together, all smiling and happy throughout the halls and shelves of the townhome. Ragnor’s presence carries through the kitchen, in the old mugs he’d buy for Magnus on travels. His presence is all over Magnus’ living room too. Magnus has every book Ragnor has ever written, every magazine and work of his that was featured in stocked in the bookshelves. He even has Ragnor’s original copy of _ A Woman Beyond— _the biography of his late grandmother—written up with all sorts of notes within the margins, scratched out sentences with intentions to change, and pages marked out from ideas gone stale. It had been a gift for Magnus when he received his doctorate.

It’s his most prized possession.

Ragnor’s looming presence in his home makes his stomach turn. He wants to go around and just collect everything, store all the pictures and books in a box and hide it away so he doesn’t have to think about where Ragnor is right now. But he _ can’t _. Hiding the reminders of his friend away just feels wrong, and it makes the regret seeping in his chest grow even more.

Magnus sighs heavily, running a hand across his face as he walks up the stairs, shrugging off his coat and opening the door to the smallest bedroom—the one he’d converted to an office. He closes the door behind him, walking to his desk and flicking on the lamp. The once dark room fills with warm yellow light, and the disarray in which the room was left becomes apparent. Just hours before, he had been at this very desk, grading worksheets and tests.

Then, he got the call.

Magnus circles around the desk, eyes focusing on the half-graded worksheet he had been doing. The familiar equations stare back at him, the common chemical reactions and bond types. Just seeing the worksheets eases him a bit.

He sits down in his chair with another sigh, pulling close to the desk and starts to grade like he had hours before. He loses himself in his work, and it isn’t until his stomach growls uncomfortably loud that he pulls himself away from his half-finished presentation for tomorrow’s lecture.

Unfortunately, there isn’t much food in his fridge or pantry. He had meant to go to the story today and restock. It had been on his list of errands to do, but—

But then he got the call. And instead of completing the list of errands he had set himself up to do, he had spent all day at the hospital waiting endlessly to hear if his friend would make it out of surgery alive.

Magnus lets out another harsh sigh, just a touch of aggravation prevalent as he props his elbows on the counter, leaning down to bury his face in his hands once more.

He _ hates _ this. He hates feeling so powerless and so out of touch. There’s nothing he can do right now, nothing he can say or do to help Ragnor to recover, to wake up. He recalls what Catarina had said to him, about just being there for him, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

God, he hates this feeling.

Eventually, he pulls himself out of the self-deprecating, regretful spiral. He calls for a pizza, and in 20 minutes it’s there at his doorstep. He moves to the living room and turns on the TV stationed on the wall. He watches nothing in particular, just some dumb drama show that provides a distraction whilst he eats.

By the time he’s done and whatever leftovers are put away, he turns to go back upstairs. But as he turns the corner, the shelves of the living room catch his eye.

Hesitantly, Magnus pads over to the shelves, running fingers across the spines of books he’s collected over the years. Many are various journals, some encyclopedias that are useless now, and a few works of fiction he’s enjoyed. As he looks over the titles, his hand stills over the embellished spine of one book. It’s navy coloring doesn’t let it stand out against the others of his collection, but the gold lettering etched into the side has his heart stuttering painfully in his chest.

_ A Traveler’s Crossing. _

He pulls the book out from where it rests, crossing over to the couch and curling up with the book in his hands. He opens the cover, and its aroma of weathered paper and dust floods his nostrils. On the first page rests a small note.

_ “I wandered everywhere, through cities and countries wide. And everywhere I went, the world was on my side.” -Roman Payne, Rooftop Soliloquy _

_ To you, my dear friend. May you know that you are my world. _

Magnus bites his lip to hold back the tears as he turns the page, running his fingertips across their coarse texture. He takes a deep breath and begins to read in the silence of his home.

By the time he finishes the first chapter, his vision is cloudy with tears.

It’s then he cries.

X

Going back to the university the next day feels off from the moment he steps on campus. Magnus is lucky enough to have only a couple of classes to teach—an organic chemistry evening lecture on Mondays and Wednesdays, and its accompanying lab Thursday mornings. It’s not his preferred class—as he’d much rather teach biochemistry—but the university wasn’t going to give him one of their most prestigious classes right off the bat, never mind giving it to someone of his pedigree.

Nevertheless, Magnus still enjoys teaching organic. He loves the process of teaching in general, of helping people learn how to identify particular chemical structures, how to break down and analyze the types of reactions, how to recognize their patterns and products. He’s lucky enough to have his biochemistry doctorate, since many of his studies involve organic processes.

But today, he isn’t looking forward to teaching. For the first day in his career, he may very well be dreading it.

Stepping into the lecture hall that evening feels wrong somehow, as if he shouldn’t be here. It’s too late to cancel class, he knows, as he peers down at his watch at the time. He’s early, early enough to set up the Smart Board and ensure everything is working properly. Unlocking the classroom door, he steps in, shoes clacking audibly against the hardwood floors. He flicks on the lights, starting up the computer and getting out his notes.

It’s relatively quiet then, just Magnus and his notes. No students, no associates, just Magnus and his notes.

The silence stretches on for some time until the door opens and his first few students come straggling in. They’re relatively silent, slipping soundlessly into their seats and dallying on their phones as they wait for the lecture to start. It’s still relatively quiet until the last five minutes before the lecture starts. It’s then that conversations pick up and the noise from the halls echoes out with every open and close of the door.

Magnus looks back down to his watch. There’s two minutes left until the start of class, and despite it all—despite the notes he’s prepared and the worksheets he’s prepared—he still feels like he’s forgotten something.

“Dr. Bane?”

Magnus’ gaze snaps up from the face of his watch, and with a breath, he straightens up, pulling on the cuffs of his maroon dress shirt slightly. “Ms. Roberts,” he greets fondly, a small, nervous smile pulling at his lips, “How can I help you?”

Maia Roberts is one of his best students. She’s exceptionally well-versed, committed to the curriculum, and provides genuine interest into the _ how’s _ and _ why’s _ of what they’re doing in class. He expects her to ask a question, as she normally does at the beginning of lectures. But today, something is off.

Her brows are furrowed, expression slightly troubled. Just as Magnus is about to ask what’s the matter, Maia beats him to the punch.

“I heard about what happened to Dr. Fell,” she starts quietly. Her dark eyes meet his, full of sadness and empathy. “I’m so sorry.”

Magnus goes rigid at the mention of Ragnor. _ He’s not dead _ , Magnus thinks a bit bitterly. He absolutely _ hates _ this, the pitying stares, the apologies and condolences. Ragnor is still alive and yet everyone is quick to assume that he’s as good as dead.

_ He’s going to come out of this. _

_ He has to. _

Despite the bitterness simmering in his bones, he glances back up to Maia with a smile that’s a bit forced. “Thank you for your concern, Ms. Roberts. Did you have any other questions?”

A conflicted look paints itself across Maia’s face, her brow furrowing as she thinks. “If I’m being to forward, I’m sorry. But just know that you aren’t alone, Dr. Bane. This class cares about you, and if you need to ever take a break to be with Dr. Fell, we completely understand.”

Magnus’ heart clenches in his chest at the suggestion. “You’re just trying to get everyone out of next week’s exam, aren’t you?” he jokes in attempts to lift the air.

Maia’s lips quirk up in a smile that’s gone within a second. “You caught me,” she counters back before her somber tone returns. “I’m serious though. Going through what you are is incredibly difficult alone. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

Without another word, Maia turns from Magnus’ desk and up to her seat in the classroom.

Magnus waits a few more minutes as more of his students wade into the classroom. He looks down to his watch when most of the seats are filled.

_ Forty-five seconds. _

In forty-five seconds, he’ll be able to slip into the one thing he knows, into the concepts and applications of chemistry. He’ll be able to take his mind off the heavy weight in his chest.

In forty-five seconds, he can forget, just for a little while.

X

It’s easy for Magnus to slip into the comfort of teaching once class starts. He hands back the graded worksheets to the class, and for the first half hour they go over the nomenclature and how to properly name distinct types of alkenes, alkanes, and alkynes by their IUPAC and common names. From then one, he slips into the new material. They’re exploring the reactions of alkenes today, illustrating how the double bond breaks and the reactions yields two new single bonds. He walks them through the basics of the mechanism, starting with the hydrogen halides. He continues through the favored products, eventually reaching the relationship between a molecule’s stability and its rate of formation.

By the time he reaches regioselectivity, however, he turns back from the board to be greeted by a few lost and confused faces.

_ Alright, _ he thinks, _ let’s bring them back in. _

“Right, so I’m sure everyone is absolutely enthralled by carbocation stabilities, aren’t we?” he asks sarcastically. The comment earns a couple of muffled chuckles among his class. “I’m sure a lot of you are asking ‘Dr. Bane, is this _ really _ important? Will I even see this after this class’?” He steps off to the side for a moment, his eyes roaming across the students. “Alright then, for those who are still awake, how many of you are planning to enter the medical field, to be a doctor, a nurse, or pharmacist?” He watches silently as a few students raise their hands and nods in satisfaction. “Well organic chemistry plays a vital role in our biology. These mechanisms are the very processes that happen in our bodies on a day to day basis. The process of making proteins, carbohydrates, and lipids are amongst some of the most important processes in our bodies, not to mention all the enzymes and catalysts that help fuel these reactions.”

Stepping back towards the Smart Board, he brings up an image of a transition state diagram. “Now we’ve seen these a handful of times already, and as you continue through the curriculum, you’ll continue to see them. This one is a bit simpler, but it suggests the same information as this one.” He taps the screen, dragging another diagram on screen. It earns a few curious _ oohs _ from his students. “This is a protein’s folding funnel. You’ll see more of these in Dr. Gray’s biochemistry course, but essentially this funnel shows us what the most stable structure is and shows how rapidly it forms.” Taking his pen, he circles the lowest point of the funnel.

“Now this is what will be the most stable protein fold. Like carbocation transition structures, it shows the relationship between stability and rate of formation. But there’s a catch. With this particular protein, it’s improperly folded. So while it is the more stable product, it’s actually problematic because this structure forms a series of polymers which in turn form a series of rods that distort and can cause spongiform encephalopathy, or…” he trails off, bringing up another image. The students laugh as he pulls back. “Mad Cow Disease.”

“So though carbocation transition states aren’t _ nearly _ as interesting as folding funnels, they both show how important stability and the rate of formation are. What you’ll learn later is even though it may be the most stable, it may also be the most deadly.”

He looks up to his students again, many of which seem to be interested in the topic again. He’s just about to move on with the lecture when a student raises their hand.

“So could things like improper protein folding or improper bonding lead to other types of brain damage?”

Magnus takes a breath, collecting his thoughts before he speaks. “There are a number of different diseases that can occur from misfolded proteins. Aggregates, like amyloid fibrils or plaques can occur. It’s thought that these kinds of diseases can lead to things such as Alzheimer’s. But if you’re asking about brain _ damage _, there are a number of literary articles that explore things just as strokes and aneurysms and what chemical processes can cause them to rupture and—”

And as if Magnus is struck, he freezes, body going stiff.

His mind floods with thoughts of Ragnor, the brain damage he suffered, the fact that he’s in the hospital right now, practically living off machines while Magnus pretends like everything is _ fine _.

Magnus’ world tilts. He feels sick.

He can’t do this.

_ He can’t— _

He drops the pen from his hand and stumbles back. There’s a wave of silent gasps and looks of concern from his students. But Magnus can’t focus on that, he _ can’t— _

“Dr. Bane?” A student—he doesn’t know who—perks up. “Is everything okay?”

_ No. No, it’s not okay, _ he wants to snap back. _ My best friend is on his death bed and it’s all my fault because I wouldn’t listen to him and— _

His hands shake. He looks down to the clock resting in the lower right-hand corner of the screen.

_ Fifteen minutes left. _

He should be able to finish this lecture, should be able to at least get through this, but—

“I’m sorry,” Magnus apologizes quickly, ignoring his shaking hands and wavering voice, “but I’m afraid I have to end class early today. I’ll post the rest of the slides on Blackboard.” He shuffles quickly, body disconnected from mind, pulling out the printouts from this messenger bag and haphazardly splaying them across the desk’s surface. Some slide off the side, and the crisp clatter of paper echoes loudly in the silence of the lecture room. “T-Take one before you leave. I’ll take it up on Wednesday.”

He doesn’t wait for anyone to speak up in response, instead hurriedly closing the programs and forcing a log out of the system. He can feel them staring, their judgements and pity and everything he doesn’t want right now. He can’t be here. Not now.

Securing the clasps on his messenger bag, he slings it over his shoulder.

He’s out the door before anyone can stop him.

X

After that, the university grants him three weeks of leave.

It’s both a blessing and a curse, he thinks. A blessing in that he can step away from classes, catch his breath, be at the hospital with his focus on his friend’s health. But at the same time, it’s nothing more than a curse. At least at school he’d be doing something, helping people with learning and improving their lives. He can just hear Ragnor’s words in his head.

_ If there is an opportunity to make someone’s life better, to help someone achieve their dreams, then why wouldn’t I take it? _

A ghost of a smile passes over his features as he stands in the shower, letting the hot water pass over his body. Ragnor was always so wise and so full of knowledge. It was something he always admired about his dear friend.

_ It’s not like they won’t learn _, Magnus thinks idly. In his absence, Tessa—one of his best friends on campus—will be teaching his lectures and handing out assignments. With their shared interest in biochemistry, Tessa knows his curriculum and standards well.

If he’s honest, there’s no one he’d rather have teach in his stead.

_ Take some time off, _ she had said to him. _ Let me know if you need anything. I’m always here for you, Magnus. _

He remembers the sad tone in her voice, in her eyes, as she spoke to him. He had nodded with a smile then—however faulty—before leaving her office with a kiss on the cheek and a soft goodbye. He remembers coming back home, back to every relic and memory of Ragnor, and crying into his Chinese takeout.

Not the worst night he’s had, admittedly.

That was two nights ago, however; and he’s spent the last couple of days locked up in his home, combing through books and pictures and memories, alternating between self-deprecation and mourning. And while another day wasting away in his home sounds compelling, he decides to get ready, packing a small bag with a couple of books he knows Ragnor likes and some things to keep him busy before making his way to the hospital.

Magnus checks in at the front desk and heads up to the ICU, silently hoping that Ragnor is still there and waiting for him. He realizes then he hasn’t been back in almost three days, and Ragnor could very well be dead.

It’s that thought that makes the guilt wash over him once more. With a breath far too unsteady, he walks over to Ragnor’s ICU unit, half-expecting it to be empty.

What he isn’t expecting, however, is Raphael.

“Raph?”

Magnus’ voice must startle Raphael, for his shoulders tense. It’s slight, but Magnus catches it immediately.

“Magnus?” he asks incredulously. His eyes catch the clock on the side of the wall before looking back to Magnus with wide eyes. “What are you doing here? You’re—”

“On a three week leave as issued by the university board,” Magnus starts, stepping forward and sliding the curtain back behind him. His gaze wanders over to Ragnor, still as motionless and unresponsive as he was two days ago. “Guess I couldn’t handle this as well as I thought I could.”

Raphael’s look softens a bit before he turns back towards Ragnor. Even from a small glance, Magnus can see the toll Ragnor’s condition is taking on Raphael.

The first thing Magnus notices is how completely drained Raphael looks by seeing Ragnor motionlessly wired to the bed. Though his face remains stone cold—wound tight lipped and furrowed brow—there’s a distance, a haze in his eyes that Magnus can see plainly. Raphael has never been too openly expressive with his emotions or actions, but over the years Magnus has come to recognize the signs.

It’s not a surprise, Raphael’s reaction. After all, Ragnor was a huge part of his life. Almost as if he shares the same thought, Raphael’s hand closes around the golden cross hanging around his neck.

Ragnor helped him when he had decided to become a priest. Ragnor’s insight, his ability to break down the Bible, to dissect metaphors and motives had done wonders to help Raphael. Now he’s giving sermons as the lead priest at the Catholic church just a few minutes away.

Magnus has gone to Raphael’s church and sat in at mass only a handful of times. He doesn’t believe, hasn’t for a long time. Yet he has always been supportive of Raphael. With the way he speaks—the utter conviction and love he has in his faith—Magnus could almost start believing again.

Ragnor would be so proud of him.

“I was in mass when I got the call,” Raphael explains. “I wasn’t able to answer any of Cat’s calls or texts, nor the call from the hospital.” His eyes turn down, squeezing Ragnor’s hand gently. “I’m sorry.”

Whether it’s directed at Magnus or Ragnor, Magnus isn’t sure.

“I’m sure he’d forgive you,” Magnus responds. “He always did love listening to your sermons.”

Raphael hums warmly, a ghost of a smile ticking up the corner of his lips. “That he did.”

It’s quiet for a long stretch of time, with nothing but the monitors, the ventilator, and the hushed talk of the staff outside of Ragnor’s room. It’s a heavy and thick silence, one that weighs Magnus down as he shifts from foot to foot at the edge of the bed. It’s not nearly as suffocating in here, he notices. In that first night, Magnus could barely breathe. But now, oxygen reaches his lungs. It’s not nearly enough to make him feel at peace, as he still feels a sullen weight aching in his chest, but it’s still an improvement.

Magnus’ eyes trail over to Ragnor once more as he walks over towards Ragnor’s right side. At this proximity, he can see how distressed Ragnor’s features are. The bandages around his head are still wrapped. They’re crisp and clean—they probably had just been changed—hiding the scars of his procedure underneath.

Ragnor’s expression is relaxed, and Magnus can’t help but fixate on his eyes, how the dark lashes press against his pale cheeks. He watches silently, hoping and praying for maybe some flutter, some subtle shift of movement in the stillness. With a gentle hand, he presses a thumb to Ragnor’s brow, working from the center of the browbone out to the edge to straighten the coarse hairs underneath.

“Do you think he’ll make it?”

It’s a morbid question, he knows, far too inappropriate considering the time and place. But he can’t help but ask. He wants to know, wants to hope that he’s not alone in wanting to believe that Ragnor can come back to them.

To him.

There’s another beat of silence before Raphael replies. “I’d like to believe it, yes,” he starts. “But there’s no certainty in the fact that he will.” He looks up, meeting Magnus’ gaze. “And I know that’s not what you want to hear. Even though I’m a priest, I can’t tell the future.” He looks back down to his hands around Ragnor’s, squeezing once more. “In the end, whether he stays or goes is up to God.”

Magnus lets out a harsh breath, shaking his head. “_ Unbelievable. _ ” He steps away from Ragnor, walking back from the bed and over to the small counter tucked on the other wall to place his bag there. “So what? We have no other choice but to accept it? He’s your _ friend _ , Raph, the man you helped you get into the church in the first place. Without him, your _ God _ would be short a helper.”

A pitiful chuckle bubbles up his throat as he turns back to Raphael. Frustration courses through him as he combs his fingers through his hair. “You devoted your life to serving this God of yours, and what has he done in return? He’s _ killing _ your friend, Raph! How is that God’s will?! If your God truly is as merciful and gracious as you claim He is then why, _ why _ did He do this to you?”

There’s a sharp current of charged silence between them, tense and dangerous. Magnus lets out his frustration in a sigh, but his breath shudders unevenly as he thinks of Ragnor.

“He didn’t deserve any of this,” Magnus starts again, tone calmer than just seconds ago. He looks over to his friend lying unconscious in the bed. “There’s nothing he’s done that should bring him this fate.” Magnus’s brows furrow as he balls a fist, the crescents of his dark nails jutting into the skin of his palm. “If anyone deserves to be dangling from his deathbed in a hospital, it’s me, not—”

“_ Magnus _,” Raphael cuts in harshly. Their eyes meet and Raphael’s distant look has faded, instead replaced with an intense stare geared towards Magnus. “You don’t deserve that, either. You’re a good person too, Magnus.”

There’s honesty in his words, Magnus knows. Raphael always can be held accountable for saying what he believes in. It’s what makes him an amazing priest.

Yet, Magnus can’t help but feel like that isn’t true. He isn’t a good person. There’s so much he’s done wrong within the past year, so much he’s done wrong throughout his whole _ life _. He deserves to be in Ragnor’s place.

Ragnor doesn’t deserve any of it. He’s loved and cherished by school faculty and student body, he’s got friends and families, a promising career and a mind that can’t be compared to anyone else. And what of Magnus? What is he to have? A shell of a career? Opportunities that are only a shadow of what they could have been if he hadn’t fucked up his entire life? He can count the number of people who would miss him on one hand. In comparison to Ragnor, he has nothing.

So why isn’t he there instead?

Raphael looks down to the bed, releasing Ragnor’s hand to smooth out the quilt over the bed. “God makes decisions that we cannot comprehend sometimes,” he starts solemnly. “If it is His will, what happens to Ragnor will impact his life, as well as the lives around him. Regardless, I believe that whether Ragnor lives or dies, we will each grow from this experience. It will be hard. God does not present life without its challenges; but He does not supply challenges He believes we cannot overcome.”

Magnus looks down to the floor and frowns. “That’s not enough…” he trails. He can feel his hands shake, balled up in fists at his sides.

“Magnus—”

“Blind faith isn’t going to fucking help us, Raph,” he spits out. Anger fuels through his veins as he speaks. “Our friend is in a coma, and the damage done to his brain makes him incapable of moving. How the hell do you think this will benefit us? How will it benefit him? You know how much Ragnor hates sitting around all day. He’d much rather die than—”

Magnus cuts himself off as his voice starts to crack with the words. He tears his gaze away from Raphael, feeling the familiar sting of tears threatening to build against his eyelids.

“If it was God’s will, He would’ve taken me instead.”

“Magnus, stop it.” Raphael scolds. “Wishing it was you isn’t going to heal him. Cursing God won’t either.”

“But he doesn’t deserve this!” he yells out hopelessly. “Out of everyone in the world, Ragnor was the last person who deserved this! He’s a good person, Raph! He has so much more to give the world, so much knowledge and good! How is that fair?!”

Raphael waits for a moment, letting the silence settle before replying. “Screaming and yelling about it isn’t going to help, Magnus.”

“Well what am I supposed to do Raph?!” Magnus yells back. The sound echoes in the silence of the ICU, amidst the beeping of the monitors. His breathing is shaky, his body already exhausted.

“Are you done?” Raphael asks, voice calm and focused.

Magnus’ lower lip trembles slightly as he looks back to Ragnor on the bed. His brows crease as he frowns. “I hate this,” he confesses. “I hate not being able to do anything, just sitting here and watching him do absolutely nothing while simultaneously hoping he’ll wake up and this nightmare can finally be over. I hate feeling this powerless, like there’s nothing I can do.”

The silence settles once more as Raphael’s focus shifts from Magnus to Ragnor. He speaks up a moment later.

“There is something you can do.”

Magnus gives him a look, silently begging for an explanation. Without a word, Raphael pats the arm rest of the chair beside him, offering his hand for Magnus.

“Pray with me.”

Magnus doesn’t frown, but his gut swirls uncomfortably nevertheless. He doesn’t believe, hasn’t in years. Praying to some almighty thing he doesn’t even believe in won’t do him any good.

And yet, he walks over to Raphael, sitting beside him and closing his hand in Raphael’s. He gives a hesitant nod, and with a gentle squeeze of Raphael’s hand, they bow their heads and Raphael quietly falls into prayer.

Magnus doesn’t believe, but he prays, just in case someone might be listening.

X

Raphael leaves an hour after their prayer.

In that time, the ICU returns to its solitary quietness. Nurses come in and check on Ragnor, replacing the IV bag, moving some limbs to prevent atrophy, washing and reapplying the dressing to his head. Magnus steps out then, unsure if he’d be able to watch as they unveil the stitched up surgical cut that circles Ragnor’s head. When they finish, Magnus walks back in, closing the curtain once more as he settles in. He grabs the remote near the bedside table, turning on the TV to the channel he knows is showing reruns of _ Family Matters _. He grabs his bag, taking out a couple of the books and setting them on his lap.

“I brought you some books,” he says aloud, knowing full well Ragnor can’t hear him. “Nothing too heavy, though. We wouldn’t want you to think too hard.”

The attempt at humor hurts him, and he quiets down. He reads the first few chapters of a book regarding the intricacies of quantum theory and how it would apply to fantasy-type elements—one of Ragnor’s favorites. Throat dry and scratchy, he closes the book, turning the volume back on the TV to watch a couple episodes of _ Family Matters _. He watches them holding Ragnor’s hand, squeezing every so often and whispering to Ragnor about which are his favorite parts, as if Ragnor didn’t know himself.

It’s pitiful really, Magnus thinks. Here Ragnor is, unable to move or talk or respond and Magnus is just acting like everything is fine.

“_ It should’ve been me _,” he whispers when the episode ends, his self-deprecation taking over. “It never should have been you.”

And in an instant, there are tears in his eyes, falling on his lap and fogging up his vision. He feels exhausted all over again, his body heavy and hollow. It’s been nearly four hours, most of which have been sitting at Ragnor’s bedside. This—paired with his fight with Raphael—just leaves him tired and lost.

He’s so tired of feeling helpless and powerless like this. Truly, there’s nothing he can do. Much like Ragnor, he’s always hated sitting around and doing nothing, always hated not being able to help.

This is certainly no exception.

He cries then, ugly and broken. His chest hurts. The hole in his heart aches. His hands are shaking, and his lips are trembling.

He just wants his friend back. To have Ragnor back, to hear his voice and his quick wit as they watch TV. To go to the diner and sing to the jukebox again, to talk about academic panels and developments in their fields. It’s all he wants. But his desire does nothing. Ragnor won’t come out of the coma on his hope alone.

_ The rest is up to Ragnor. _

It’s up to Ragnor himself, up to some odd chance that’s too far above Magnus to try and sway. He can curse out the staff, God, the moments leading up to this, but it won’t do anything.

He can’t do anything.

Another harsh sob rips from his chest as he buries his hands into the quilted covers. It should’ve been him. It should’ve _ always _ been him. But it’s not. It’s Ragnor. The person who deserves it the least.

In the back of his mind, Magnus feels the guilt seeping it. How it’s his fault, how everything that has led up until this point is on him.

He’s such a horrible person.

As his cries continue, he can’t help but think that perhaps this is his punishment for being alive.

X

Magnus isn’t even aware that he fell asleep until someone is shaking him awake.

“Dr. Bane,” a voice echoes softly. There’s a gentle push to his shoulder, pulling him from the haze of sleep and back to reality. His eyes flutter open, squinting at the sudden brightness of the hospital room flooding his senses. He groans gently as he sits back, straightening up in the chair. Magnus suppresses a wince as his back throbs painfully, obviously unhappy having slouched over a bed for god knows how long.

“How long was I asleep?” he asks groggily, rubbing away the fatigue in his eyes gently as not to disturb the makeup he put on this morning.

“A few hours,” the nurse replies. Magnus blinks up at her to see her smiling back softly at him. Her golden hair is pulled back in a ponytail, though some of the longer strands around her face have fallen from the hold, framing her kind face and blue eyes. She wears a set of eggplant-colored scrubs, slightly different from the one’s he’s seen Cat wear. He gathers she must be an intensivist nurse.

“You looked like you needed the rest, so I told my staff not to disturb you,” she adds.

Magnus looks away, scratching the nape of his neck slightly. “Thank you,” he mutters softly.

There’s a beat or two of silence before the nurse speaks up again. “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself yet. My name is Jennifer Cook, I’m the head intensivist nurse here.”

She holds out a hand to shake, and _ oh— _now Magnus remembers. Dr. Lightwood had mentioned her before. He takes her hand lightly, giving a couple of shakes before taking back his hand.

His eyes trail back to Ragnor.

“How is he?”

Jennifer’s smile falters a bit as she raises her gaze to his friend. “He’s stabilized,” she starts tersely. “But unresponsive due to the sedatives we’ve given him. I’m sure Nurse Loss has told you some of the details, but Dr. Fell went through a very traumatic experience and a difficult surgery. We’ve placed him in a medically induced coma to give his brain time to heal.”

“…Do you know how long it will be?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t,” Jennifer replies solemnly. “It’s our hope as much as yours to see that Dr. Fell heals as quickly as possible. But with the damages as extensive as they are, I cannot promise a reliable amount of time in which he’ll remain on sedatives.”

Magnus looks down to his lap, fingers brushing over the cold metal of his rings. Again, it seems like there is nothing he can do but wait. He wants Ragnor to heal quickly, wishes that he could have some ounce of power to speed up the process.

But he has none.

“Thank you…for giving me an honest answer,” he says appreciatively.

“We care for Dr. Fell too, Dr. Bane,” Jennifer says softly, squatting down and placing her hand on his shoulder. “I assure you that Dr. Lightwood and everyone else here are doing everything we can to make sure he’s comfortable as he heals.” She smiles warmly once more at him. “Let us know if there is anything we can do for you too, Dr. Bane. Though you may not be a patient, your health and well-being is also important to us.”

Magnus’ lip trembles at her words as he gazes into her bright blue eyes. There’s still so much hope in them, so much comfort and peace there. Her warm hand on his shoulder is loving, caring.

Almost like a mother’s touch.

It’s that thought that sends Magnus off his axis, with a shaky gasp of breath wracking his frame. There are tears again, and he knows that there are probably streaks from when he cried earlier. But he can’t help it. He cries again, but this time Jennifer is there, hugging him gently and soothing him with gentle rubs against his shoulders and soft shushes in his ear.

When he finally calms down again, Jennifer pulls away, wiping away some of the tear stains on his face. She hesitantly pulls back her hands before she speaks.

“You’ve been in here for quite a few hours, Dr. Bane. How about we step out for a while, perhaps just to walk around?” she offers. “Or maybe you could go to the cafeteria downstairs and get something to eat?”

Magnus catches the shift from _ we _ to _ you. _ “What will you be doing?”

Jennifer glances back at Ragnor for a moment. “The nurses and I are going to wash Dr. Fell,” she states simply. “It’ll be easier if it’s just us, but I also am concerned about you. You haven’t been out of this room since you came in this morning.”

Magnus looks down to his lap, noticing that it’s nearly 2:30 in the afternoon. As if on cue, his stomach growls lowly. A bit embarrassed, he ducks his head.

“I guess I could go and get something to eat.”

Jennifer smiles again, squeezing his hands gently. “Come,” she beckons, “I’ll show you the way down.”

X

The hospital cafeteria is surprisingly busy.

Magnus really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s a large hospital, and plenty of people—whether doctors or family or nurses—inhabit the building all at once. There are quite a few food choices too, different stations with chefs cooking meals and people lined up waiting for their food. In a sense, Magnus feels a little overwhelmed, being just some singular person among the masses within the cafeteria.

He swallows down the feeling, making his way up to the station that does wraps and sandwiches. He orders just as swiftly and silently, and within the next ten minutes he has his food paid for and walks out into the dining area, scanning the area for open seating.

As Magnus looks around, he can see all the people congregating in the cafeteria. There are a wide variety of people, from doctors to interns, from spouses to families with children and grandchildren. He’s astounded to see the overall feeling is far from mourning. The sun is shining through the windows, and people are laughing and smiling and—

And it just feels wrong.

Somehow, the joy that surrounds him doesn’t reach his form. It exists around him, but not in him. There’s no happiness, no hope in his veins; no family for him to rely on or to console in.

Simply, he is alone.

Sad and alone. A truly devastating place to be, but one he’s been thrust into ever since he got the damn call.

Tearing his eyes away from those smiling faces, he finds an open space over by the bar table that rests against the large wall of windows overlooking the city. As he slips into the chair, he takes in the view. The fall colors are especially prominent for mid-September, with reds and oranges and yellows that he’s always loved. He watches as cars pass by, as people stroll in and out of stores blissfully living their day to day lives just as they would every day. He watches, somehow wishing it was him who could just make the time go back, back to the normality he had surrounded himself in for so long.

_ But that’s impossible, _ Magnus thinks. Ragnor is upstairs, immobile in a bed and hooked up to wires and monitors to keep him alive. There’s no more normalcy for Magnus, not anymore.

“Dr. Bane,” a voice calls out, stirring him from the torrent emotions running through his mind. He looks over his shoulder to see Dr. Lightwood standing near the table with a look of surprise decorating his face. He tilts his head just a bit. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Magnus shrugs halfheartedly, turning his gaze back to his plate. “Jennifer kicked me out of the room,” he says. “Said I needed some fresh air.”

Dr. Lightwood gives half of a shrug. “She is right,” he agrees. “Staying in that room all day isn’t healthy.”

“Yeah, well neither is this sandwich and yet here we are.”

The last thing Magnus expects from his snide comment is a snort of laughter from the neurosurgeon. He has to restrain a roll of his eyes as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

For a minute, Magnus thinks maybe the doctor has wandered off to sit with someone else. Because surely someone like him has a plethora of friends, fellow staff members he likes—_ hell, _ Magnus thinks, _ maybe even a girlfriend. _ But much to his surprise, Dr. Lightwood steps forward, back into the edge of Magnus’ peripheral vision. He eyes the empty seat next to Magnus.

“Are you waiting on anybody?” Dr. Lightwood asks.

Magnus gives a half-hearted shrug in reply.

“Do you mind if I sit with you then?”

Magnus doesn’t glance in the doctor’s direction. “It’s a free country.”

Dr. Lightwood takes it as enough incentive to take a seat next to him. He clatters the tray down and Magnus takes note of the bacon burger and sweet potato fries on his plate.

“That doesn’t seem too healthy,” Magnus states dryly. “All that grease isn’t good for you, you know.”

“Precisely why I don’t sit with anyone in cardiology,” the doctor counters back and _ oh _ —that’s actually kind of funny. “I made the mistake once and _ never again _.”

Magnus can’t stifle a snort of laughter then, the faintest of smiles pulling across his face. When he meets Dr. Lightwood’s eyes, the smile falters and his brows furrow as he looks back down to his plate, pushing around some of the vegetables on his plate put on as a side.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus sighs out defeatedly.

“What for?”

Magnus pokes at the broccoli absentmindedly. “I was an ass to you earlier,” he elaborates. “You’re trying your best in an impossible situation and I wasn’t considerate of that. I’m sorry.”

Dr. Lightwood doesn’t immediately say anything, and for a moment Magnus wonders if his apology isn’t enough. “You’re not the first person to yell at me for not trying hard enough.”

The statement earns a wide-eyed glance from Magnus. He knows being in a medical field isn’t easy. He’s heard plenty of stories from Cat about getting chewed out by family or friends of a patient. While he knows that he probably isn’t the first person to insult Dr. Lightwood, there’s something about the look in the doctor’s eyes when he says it that’s almost…sorrowful.

“Still, you’re doing as much as you can. No matter how much I may wish for it, you aren’t a miracle worker. You’re human, just like the rest of us. You can’t heal and save everyone.”

The doctor’s brows furrow. “But—”

“Just accept my apology, damn it,” Magnus counters back with a light swat to the doctor’s arm.

Dr. Lightwood chuckles lowly, his teeth peeking through those rosebud lips. “Okay, okay,” he replies somewhat defeatedly. “I accept your apology.”

Magnus nods sternly as he turns back to his plate. There’s an awkward silence that sits between them, and Magnus goes back to poking around at his vegetables instead of actually eating them. He’s never been great at small talk, so he has no idea why he’s attempting it now. “So, Dr. Lightwood—”

“Alec.”

Magnus blinks once in surprise. “Huh?”

“You don’t have to address me as _ Dr. Lightwood _ all the time,” he explains. “Alec is just fine.”

“Uh huh…” Magnus trails. “You’re not really one for professionalism, are you?”

The doctor snorts with a humored look on his face. “On the contrary, I’m very professional,” he counters, puffing out his chest slightly. “I get far too many comments about how I’m a stick in the mud.”

“So you _ stick _ to the rules then?” Magnus jokes.

Dr. Lightwood—_ Alec _, Magnus reminds himself—shoves Magnus’ shoulder. “That was bad.”

“Believe me, they can get much worse.”

Alec chuckles. “I’ll look forward to it then,” he quips as he snatches up a sweet potato fry and pops it into his mouth with another bright smile. It falls into another brief silence, though it’s hardly as tense as before. Alec pulls out his phone, scrolling his thumb across the screen as he eats.

“So then,” Magnus starts again—_ god, why is he still talking?— _ stabbing a string bean in the process, “ _ Alec _.”

Magnus’ brows furrow at the odd taste of the doctor’s first name on his tongue. It just seems…wrong somehow.

“Yes?”

“Does uh…does anyone else here call you by your first name? Or am I just getting special treatment?”

“I go by Alec to my colleagues,” he explains. “And some patients, on the occasion.”

“Why _ Alec _?” Magnus prods further. “I’ve never heard anyone call you Alexander before.”

Alec scrunches his nose a bit at the sound of his full name. “Because nobody calls me that except for my parents, really.”

Magnus hums, looking back to his plate with a soft smile. “Well I like your full name,” he admits gently. “Quite frankly, I think Alexander is a wonderful name.” He glances over at Alec to see the doctor’s cheeks flush, eyes turned down to his food as he nudges at his fries.

“P-Perhaps…it’s not that bad,” Alec stammers. “It sounds uh…nice coming from you.”

There’s a huff of laughter from Magnus in response. “So I _ am _ getting special treatment.”

Alec simply rolls his eyes with another smile. “I’ll humor you this time, Dr. Bane.”

“Magnus.”

“Huh?”

Magnus meets Alec’s gaze once more, a slight smile turning up the corners of his lips. “My name is Magnus. And though it is rather nice to hear you call me _ Doctor _, I’d love to hear how my name sounds when you say it.”

Alec’s smile grows brighter, stretching fully across his face. Humor flickers in his eyes. “Alright then. I’ll humor you this time, _ Magnus _.”

He purposefully dips into the baritone, deep—and admittedly sexy—voice as he calls Magnus by his name. It makes goosebumps flit across his skin in the best way.

In that moment, Magnus smiles.

And for once, the hospital doesn’t feel as cold as it did before.

X

The warmth doesn’t last long.

It’s only two days later when Ragnor is dragged back into an OR. From what he’s been told, due to the potential longevity of Ragnor’s coma, he’ll receive a tracheostomy that will deliver a more direct form of oxygen to his lungs, preserving the soft tissue of his esophagus.

It’s a simple procedure, he’s been told. But complications are a fact of surgery, and though Ragnor may be in a coma, it doesn’t mean that there won’t be complications.

So here he sits outside the OR, laying back in a chair with his legs splayed out. His body and soul have split, and he doesn’t quite feel like he’s here anymore. His mind is miles away, floating in the vacuum of space, of nothingness. It hurts for him to breathe.

Magnus’ gaze drifts over to the others sitting in the waiting area. There are those crying, those hoping and praying with one another. There are some who are joyous, with happy faces after learning their loved ones have made it through surgery.

And what of him? They’ll come out and tell Magnus that either they were successful and Ragnor lived, or he’s dead. Either way, he’ll be unable to speak. He won’t wake up anytime soon.

Magnus blinks slowly, watching the black spots in his vision multiply and congregate. He hasn’t slept for hours. He can’t sleep. He hasn’t been able to since that damned forsaken day.

“Magnus?”

The voice doesn’t startle him as much as it should. Magnus takes a deep breath, eyes finally pulling away from the lights overhead and towards the source of the voice.

As his vision clears, he meets the gaze of Dr. Lightwood—_ Alec, _ he reminds himself. Instead of a scrub cap, the young doctor’s dark hair is tousled with his bangs swept across his forehead. The pristine white doctor’s coat hangs off his shoulders, and there’s a sense of pride and certainty in his stance.

“Alexander,” Magnus says singularly in acknowledgement.

“What are you doing here?”

Magnus gives an indefinite shrug, eyes drifting back to the doors leading to the OR. “Waiting. What else does it look like?”

Alec’s brows furrow as he looks to the door. Realization dawns a second later. “What happened? Is he—?”

“They’re putting a tube in him,” Magnus says simply. “For him to breathe.”

There’s a beat of silence before Alec closes the distance between them, sitting in the chair beside him. “How are you doing?”

Magnus huffs out a breath. “I’m fantastic, thanks for asking.”

“_ Magnus _,” Alec calls a bit more sternly. “I’m serious.”

“What do you want me to say, Alexander? That I’m fine? ‘Cause I’m not.” He looks to Alec, anger and despair swimming around in his veins. He takes one look at Alec and his shoulders slack and his lip trembles. “I’m not okay.”

Alec looks down, pressing a hand to Magnus’ wrist gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Tell me Ragnor isn’t going to die.” Magnus looks back to Alec, desperate. “Tell me he won’t die. He can’t die, Alexander. Not until I—”

He’s interrupted when the doors to the OR open. He meets the face of one of the nurses he’d seen take Ragnor away for the procedure.

“Melanie,” Magnus whispers, pulling himself from his chair and away from Alec. He walks over to the nurse—somehow, because he can’t really feel his legs right now—searching her face for any and every sign of Ragnor’s condition. “W-What happened? Is Ragnor—?”

“Dr. Fell did very well,” Melanie reports with a small upturn to the corners of her lips. “He’s going to stay in the SICU for a few hours until he’s stabilized, then he’ll be back in his room by the end of the evening.” She pats his hands lightly. “You can rest easy now, Dr. Bane.”

Magnus looks down to the floor, watching the fluorescent light reflect against the leather of his shoes.

“That’s—that’s good,” he manages to say somewhat lamely. Magnus swallows the lump in his throat. “When can I see him?”

“Now, if you’d like,” Melanie states. “He may look a bit pale, and the area around the tube may be irritated, but he’s doing well and his vitals look good.”

Magnus takes another breath. “Okay,” he sighs out a moment later, stepping forward to follow Melanie to see Ragnor. As he steps away, he turns back to look at Alec, who watches him with those emerald-hazel eyes. There’s sadness in them, pleading.

_ Please don’t go. _

Magnus tears his gaze away from the doctor, back to following Melanie to the SICU.

X

Going to the SICU was a bad idea.

It’s quiet. Far quieter than the neurological ICU. Even though the NICU is dead quiet—_ dead, not a good metaphor— _it’s nothing compared to this. The SICU just makes Magnus want to vomit, because its filled with so much goddamn despair and smells a lot like—

Well, it smells a lot like death.

Melanie brings Magnus into Ragnor’s room, and the moment she shuts the door, Magnus runs over to the bin and promptly vomits into it. He pants and heaves a few more times until nothing comes out, then wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

His eyes drag back to Ragnor. He’s the same as before, just as still and lifeless as before. Except this time, there’s a clear tube strapped to his throat that’s now attached to the ventilator. Now that the ventilator has moved from his mouth, Ragnor looks almost at peace.

Except he’s not.

_ God, _ he’s going to vomit again.

“You look awful,” Magnus grates out instead. “Stupidly awful. You look like one of those tall ass trees where they put the spicket in to pull sap from.” He frowns down at Ragnor, cradling Ragnor’s hands in his own. He sniffles harshly, swallowing the acid burning his esophagus. “You don’t even look like you anymore…” he trails off. “Hell, you’re one procedure off from being the next Stephen Hawking.”

It’s meant to be a joke, and though he laughs at first, it quickly dies out. He squeezes Ragnor’s hand again, wishing Ragnor would just squeeze back. But that time is long gone, and with every day it feels like his friend is slipping further and further away.

And it’s with that thought that his vision clouds and he’s sniffling, crying, blubbering like a damn maniac at Ragnor’s bedside. He falls to his knees at the edge of the bed, cradling Ragnor’s hand in his own and just crying his own goddamn eyes out.

Ragnor is running far from his reach, stuck in a place Magnus can’t get to.

He’s helpless. Unable to do anything but beg and plead for the inevitable.

It’s in the midst of his tears that the door opens again.

Magnus doesn’t hear the sound at first, but feels the hands on his shoulders and he jolts back in surprise, letting go of Ragnor’s hand as he clatters to the ground.

“Who the—?!” He looks up to see Alec crouching down next to him slowly. “Oh…Alexander, it’s just you. You—uh—you scared me.”

“_ Magnus _,” Alec beckons softly, tugging a few tissues out from his pocket and handing them to Magnus. “Here.”

Magnus takes them hurriedly, dabbing at his eyes and trying to get some damage control over his smeared eyeliner. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he starts weakly. “It was a bad idea for me to see him right out of surgery. He just…he looks so goddamn sick and awful and—” He seethes once more, dabbing his eyes a bit more harshly. “God, you must be tired of having to see me cry my eyes out.”

“I’m a doctor,” Alec replies. “I see people cry every day.”

Magnus huffs. “Yeah. Right. Of course. Who am I to think I’m special?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, well—” he shakes his head, pushing up from the floor and discarding his tissues in the already soiled bin, “it’s true. And it’s fine. I’m over it now. I’ve cried enough. I’m okay.” His eyes drift over to Ragnor again, his face contorting into a conflicted shape. “I’m okay.”

“You need to stop beating yourself up, Magnus,” Alec starts out quietly, rising up from the floor to step closer to the chemist. “You keep looking through this lens of ‘_ he’s going to die in this hospital _’ without giving yourself the hope that the doctors here are doing everything to help him recover. You look at this entire place like it’s a place to die. But plenty of people walk out of here, Magnus. Plenty of people see the next day here, and plenty of people here have hope for the future.”

“Plenty of people aren’t Ragnor.”

Alec shakes his head silently. “There you go again. No hope. Let me show you hope, Magnus. _ Please _.”

Magnus looks down at the doctor’s hands that are offered to him, then back to his eyes. With a slight brush of fingers, Magnus nods.

“_ Okay. _”

X

The last place Magnus expects to be is in the pediatric wing.

The pediatric wing is drastically different than the rest of the hospital, with bright colored walls, patterned carpet play areas, and illustrations of animals and landscapes across the walls. There’s a large great room at the end of the hall that houses a few sturdy bookshelves filled with different children’s books, some small tables with crayons, markers, and paper, and a couple of play tables with different toys and puzzles.

The room is filled with kids of all ages, from toddlers to younger teens, each keeping themselves occupied with the provided entertainment. There are a few nurses that watch over them as they play, even some that play along with the kids.

Joy radiates in the air around them, and Magnus can’t help but feel like he’s been transported to a completely different place.

“Alexander, why are we—?”

“Hey lookit! Alec’s here!” a cheery child’s voice interrupts, and suddenly multiple heads are turning from their toys towards Magnus and the doctor. Several faces light up, and within seconds there are a handful of kids swarming around Alec, each talking over each other and clamoring about something different. It’s chaotic and Magnus finds himself stepping away, shifting awkwardly to draw himself away from the center of their attention.

Alec, however, doesn’t seem unnerved in the slightest. Instead, he smiles brightly, laughing along with the kids as they surround him. He compliments their drawings and marvels at their accomplishments, patting the heads of some of the kids gently. There’s a little girl—Magnus notices—that makes grabby hands at Alec. Alec notices almost immediately, bending down a bit and picking her up in his arms, settling her on his hip. She can’t be older than 7, dressed in a pretty blue dress and a pink scarf tied around her neck.

“And how is my lovely lady doing today?” Alec asks as he smiles at the young girl. She blushes shyly a bit before she moves her hands around a bit, forming certain gestures as Alec watches intently. Magnus recognizes it immediately.

_ I missed you. _

“Aw, I missed you too, sweet pea,” Alec replies, and the young girl comes forward to hug the doctor gently. He hugs her back, but meets the eyes of a nurse dressed in light pink scrubs. “Is Ellie here?”

The nurse nods gently. “Her grandparents came to see her yesterday,” she reports. “She wouldn’t stop talking to them about you.”

Alec chuckles at that before he looks back to the little girl in his arms. “Madzie, sweetie, I’ve got to go see Ellie now, okay?”

Madzie nods again as Alec crouches back down to set her on her feet. He smiles at her once, muttering something under his breath to her that Magnus can’t hear. A moment later, Alec’s eyes turn to Magnus. “I’ve got to go check up on one of my patients, but it shouldn’t be too long. Would you wait for me here?”

Magnus stiffens. He _ really _ doesn’t want to be left alone in a room full of kids. It’s not that he doesn’t like kids—in fact, he quite likes kids. It’s just…he doesn’t feel like he’s in the best mental place to look after children. He can’t even take care of himself at this point.

“They’re a good group of kids,” Alec adds. The children have gone back to their toys and drawings, leaving Alec and Magnus alone once more. Alec looks at the kids with a smile on his face, though his eyes seem…sad almost? “Trust me.”

Magnus opens his mouth, a refusal on the tip of his tongue. This isn’t a good idea, letting him sit and interact with children when he hardly has the strength to interact with anyone at this point. He’s too depressed, too sad. He won’t be able to connect with them properly. It’s such a bad idea and—

And yet, Magnus’ rebuttal dies on his tongue the moment he meets Alec’s eyes. That familiar sense of hope, of underlying joy is there. It’s impossible to say no.

“Okay,” Magnus sighs. “I’ll take your word for it, Dr. McDreamy.”

Alec blinks twice in response, his brow furrowing, clearly not understanding the reference.

“Dr. McDreamy?” Magnus prods again. He sighs irritably when Alec gives him the same look of confusion. “Derek Shepard?”

“Oh no,” Alec diffuses, “I got it. But I’m just confused as to why you thought I’m like him.”

“You’re not serious, are you?” Magnus asks incredulously. “_ Look at you. _ You’re a young and attractive doctor who is popular with the ladies. Surely you’ve seen the longing stares you get every time you come into a room.” His eyes shift back towards the entrance of the pediatric unit. “The receptionist couldn’t take her eyes off of you as we came in.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Alec replies a little flatly. A small smirk crawls up his face as he processes Magnus’ words. “And you think I’m attractive?”

Magnus gives a small pout accompanied by an unamused look. “I think you’re missing the point here.”

Alec chuckles. “Yes, well, I’m afraid there’s one problem with your analogy.”

Magnus’ brows furrow. “And what would that be?”

“Well…unlike Derek Shepard, I’m gay.”

Alec lets a humorous smile spread across his face at that, clicking his pen a couple times and stepping past Magnus off to another part of the pediatric wing.

He walks away before he can see Magnus’ jaw drop.

X

Magnus has spent only twenty minutes with these kids, and he’s already smitten by them. Once Alec left, he decided to sit in one of the chairs near the edge of the room, silently picking away at the lint on his jacket. It was maybe five minutes later that he felt a pull on his sleeve. Looking up, the little girl from earlier stood in front of him, silently beckoning him to come and play with her.

And really, with a face like hers, how was he to resist?

So now he’s sat on the carpet with her, watching her play with the collection of stuffed animals she’s got around her.

She’s mute, he’s learned. Apparently and infection in her throat had rendered her incapable of talking, and the surgery she received to rid of it left her completely mute with an accompanying scar across her throat. Yet—despite all her hardships—she seems incredibly happy. As she sets down the animals, she signs Magnus each of their names. Magnus is a bit astounded with how well she signs considering how young she is. She’s smart and clever, and Magnus has no doubt in his mind that she’d be capable of doing amazing things.

Magnus is pulled from his thoughts when Madzie puts down a small German Shepard plush, signing it’s name afterwards.

_ Alec. _

“His name is Alec?” Magnus asks again. Madzie nods again. “Why’d you name him Alec?”

_ Alec gave me this, _ she signs. _ He is kind and he gives good hugs. _

Magnus smiles at that, glancing down at the dog in her hands. It’s a bit worn compared to the others. At a first glance he knows that this one has received much love and affection.

“You seem to know Alec very well,” he replies. “Do you have any good stories? I feel like you’d be a beautiful storyteller.”

Madzie flushes before she hugs the little dog plush once more.

Magnus finds out quickly that his intuition was right and that Madzie is indeed an amazing storyteller. She talks about meeting Alec, how he visited her throughout her stay, how he calmed her down before surgery. She mentions how she got the dog, how Alec came in the night before her procedure and gave her the dog. _ It will protect you, _ Alec had said to her, _ and if you’re scared, just remember that he’ll always be with you. _

And oh—Magnus can’t help but melt at that. He knows that Alec is good with kids, he’d seen it from the minute they came here, but there’s something about the way Alec goes out of his way for patients that aren’t even his.

Alec Lightwood truly has a bright soul.

As Madzie wraps up her story, Magnus’ eyes shift upwards, catching a familiar figure in his peripheral vision. Alec stands there, leaning against the wall. His smile is warm and his eyes are even more so, and Magnus flushes under his gaze. Eventually, Madzie is beckoned by a nurse, and with a gentle wave and a shy smile, she waddles back to her room with the plush dog in hand.

It’s not even a moment later that Alec sits next to Magnus on the comfortable carpet floor. There’s a faint exhaustion that’s present in his face, and his eyes are just a touch sad the deeper Magnus looks into them.

“Madzie didn’t give you too much trouble, did she?”

“Trouble? Alexander, she’s the complete opposite of trouble.” He looks over his shoulder in the direction of where Madzie disappeared. “She’s such a strong and brave little girl.”

Alec’s lips quirk up in a smile that quickly fades. “Yeah, she is.”

Magnus’ brows furrow. “How’s your patient?”

“She’s…” he cuts himself off, looking away and scratching at the stubble budding under his jawline. “Ellie’s a fighter. She’s been doing very well these last few months, and oncology believes that she’ll finally be ready to go into the OR soon.”

Magnus’ shoulders slump, realizing the weight of the words and the subtle sadness in the doctor’s eyes. “She has a brain tumor.”

Alec only nods silently, not meeting Magnus’ gaze. “Yeah…she does.”

“…It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Tumors aren’t necessarily a good thing, you know.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Another silence settles over them then, and Magnus eyes trail over to a young boy sitting at the table of blocks. He’s wheelchair bound, with an oxygen tank fixed to the back and IV bags hanging off an iron rod on the right side. It’s heartbreaking, Magnus thinks, to see such young kids in these conditions. The boy appears frail and weak, and though he enjoys stacking the blocks, Magnus can see his hands shake with every move.

“Why did you bring me here today?” Magnus asks, eyes still trained on the young boy. “How can you come here and watch these kids suffer and die and not feel disheartened?"

Alec blinks singularly in surprise, searching his face as if he’s made a joke of some sorts. “I didn’t bring you here to watch children die, Magnus,” he starts sternly. His gaze locks onto the boy at the blocks table. “Philip has been here for two months now. He has some breathing issues, but Dr. Blackthorn who’s our head of pediatrics is going to take him in to surgery today, hence the IV’s.” He looks back to Magnus. “You’re quick to assume the worst. But kids like Philip and Madzie…they’re fighters. Did you know that Madzie came in so weak that the doctors didn’t want to operate on her because they said she wouldn’t make it. But Madzie didn’t want that. So she did everything she could to get strong enough for surgery, and now…now she’s just a week from getting discharged.”

He takes another breath. “I brought you here for several reasons. You seem to think that all hope is lost, that Dr. Fell may never get better. I hoped that seeing these children, who are or have been in a similar position and have fought through to survive, would give you a bit more hope that Dr. Fell has the opportunity to get better.” There’s a sadness to his eyes as he meets Magnus’ gaze. “I thought they’d make you smile.”

The doctor’s gaze is intense, emerald-golden eyes focused on nothing but Magnus’ figure. Magnus can’t help but flush.

“I-I’ve smiled,” Magnus replies lamely.

“Yes, you have,” Alec admits, “but they aren’t honest. I haven’t seen you smile, not fully at least, since Ragnor was first admitted here. It’s hard to, especially facing the things you are. Which is why I thought you deserved a break. Being here with the kids always helps me cheer up. _ That’s _ why I brought you here.” A small smile spreads across his face. “I couldn’t bear to see you drive yourself into the ground any longer.”

Magnus’ brows furrow. “I haven’t—”

“Mr. Bane!” A young voice calls out. Magnus’ eyes tear away from the doctor and towards the voice just in time to see a young girl running up to him. She smiles wide, with her freckled face and warm eyes brightening under Magnus’ wordless acknowledgement. Pushing her hands out, she offers him a bracelet made of bright, fluorescent, and glittery beads. “I noticed you like to wear bracelets, but they didn’t look colorful enough. So I made you one!”

Magnus blinks once, a bit shocked by the gesture. She made him something? She hadn’t even known him a day. Hesitantly, he takes the bracelet from her hands. It looks big enough to fit around his wrist, and the beads glitter under the fluorescent lights. He slips it on, analyzing the vibrant colors against his skin.

“It’s a perfect fit,” Magnus says warmly, gazing back up at her. He can’t help but let a smile loose at her generosity. It reminds him of the times Ragnor would come to his room, bringing small gifts and trinkets to make him smile. It’s a warm memory, and the smile tugs further on his lips, forming into a full-bodied, honest smile. It’s the first honest smile he’s let slip since he got the call. “Thank you, darling. I love it.”

The little girl beams. “Really?!”

“Really,” Magnus affirms. He holds the bracelet up, letting the bright green beads contrast against the muted army green of his jacket. “In fact, it complements my jacket perfectly.”

The shade of the beads are miles away from the color of his jacket, but he humors her anyways.

“It does, doesn’t it?” She exclaims happily. “Doesn’t it, Dr. Alec?”

Magnus doesn’t turn to look at him, but his voice cuts deep into Magnus’ core. “Yes, Leslie. He looks beautiful.”

He tries not bite his lip and flush at the remark.

“You should make one for Alec too,” Magnus offers. “He needs something to stand out with.”

“Great idea!” Leslie replies, clearly enthralled with the idea. She looks over to Alec, taking her hands in his. “C’mon, I’ve got the perfect beads back in my room!”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine, Alexander,” Magnus assures when Alec glances back to give him a doubtful look. “Go and get fitted for that bracelet. I expect to be wowed when you return.”

Leslie all but pushes at Alec’s legs then, prodding him to move forward with grumbled whines. It takes a solid minute before she’s successful in dragging Alec away from view.

Magnus watches them disappear around the corner with a small smile across his face. His gaze soon drops to his lap, to the rings adorning his fingers. They glimmer underneath the light, and the metal is cool against his skin. He bites his lip, thinking back to the doctor’s words.

_ I thought they’d make you smile. _

They have. They made him smile. Madzie and Leslie, even Philip—who’s built a very impressive castle and is smiling widely at it.

There’s hope here in this little pocket of the universe, stashed away from the horrors of the real world. And though yes—the harsh reality rears its ugly head in disease, many of the children don’t focus on that. They focus on their life.

On happiness.

And somewhere deep in Magnus’ chest, he _ wants. _ He wants happiness again. Even just a small pocket of it.

He’s tired of being so tired.

So he’s takes a breath. Takes a chance.

_ Be happy, _ he thinks. _ Ragnor wouldn’t want you looking so sad. _

“My dear friend, I believe you’re getting frown lines.”

Magnus’ heart stops in his chest at the familiar voice in his ears. He looks up quickly to the source to see Ragnor—_ oh god, it’s Ragnor. _

He stands tall, donning a simple dark button up and blazer. His eyeglasses hang on the edge of his nose, no doubt having slipped down while he was reading. His hair is slightly mused, and his stubble is just slightly grown in.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen Ragnor like this. About a year, to be exact.

“You haven’t changed,” Magnus says warmly. “Even your glasses are the same.”

Ragnor hums. “On the other hand, you’ve changed quite a bit.” He steps closer, sitting down next to Magnus. “For starters, you don’t have that horrid nose piercing anymore.”

Magnus chuckles. “It was fake and you know it.”

Ragnor’s soft smile fades, looking towards the kids playing with the blocks. “Like many things have been in your life, I suppose.”

Magnus’ stomach swoops at the thought. He knows exactly what Ragnor’s talking about. “That’s over,” Magnus says simply. “It’s been done for a long while.”

“And yet you still look miserable.” He looks back to Magnus. “I can just hear you now, discovering your first grey hair and crying to our dearest Catarina on how your youth is behind you.”

It earns a chuckle from the both of them before Ragnor speaks up again.

“It will be, if you let it,” he starts a bit more somberly. “If you stay holed up inside of that head of yours, you will only watch as life passes in front of you. You won’t ever be happy if you don’t do something about it.”

“I want to,” Magnus admits aloud, though the confession tastes odd on his tongue. “I want to be happy.”

Ragnor looks at him once more. “Good. Because the world is just a tad brighter when you are.”

Magnus opens his mouth to retort. “Ragnor—”

“Mr. Bane!!” Leslie’s voice calls out. Suddenly, Magnus’ attention is diverted towards the young girl coming around the corner with lights in her eyes. “I gave Alec a makeover! He’s so pretty now!”

Magnus takes a moment to look back to where Ragnor is, only to find him gone. There’s no indication that he was ever there. No heat in the seat next to him, no scent of Ragnor’s musty cologne—

Nothing.

Before Magnus’ thoughts can weigh him down, Leslie pulls Alec around the corner, looking delightfully embarrassed. Sure enough, Leslie has given Alec a glittery golden bracelet, but has also painted his eyelids a horrid bright yellow. The blush is too much on his cheeks—whether that’s from makeup or just Alec’s embarrassed flush, he doesn’t know—and the long strands of his hair have been put into small ponytails and braided.

Simply, he looks ridiculous.

_ He’s beautiful. _

Magnus’ eyes meet Alec’s, and for a moment, the world stops. Ragnor’s words ring once more in his head, beckoning him to keep living, to not waste away alone.

He wants to be happy. He truly does.

So, he takes a leap.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Magnus laughs.

X


	2. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ Everything is red. So red. He can't see anything else. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> livetweet this fic using the tag #ntsbfic !!

X

Things seem to improve after that.

The next three weeks move in a blur, almost. Since the first week, Ragnor seems to have gotten more stable, now resting quietly in a medically induced coma until his brain has time to heal from the trauma. Despite no obvious brain function, he’s being taken care of. Someone comes in to move his arms and legs to prevent atrophy, others come in to wash his body and clean his tracheostomy tube. Ragnor is taken care of in the ways that Magnus cannot care for him. All that Magnus can do is sit by his bedside, reading stories and watching television, holding Ragnor’s hand and whispering promises that they’ll get through it.

Because they will.

Though Ragnor’s condition doesn’t seem to change, Magnus’ relationship with Alec has turned for the better. No longer does it feel like he’s walking in a minefield, like anything can set him off. It feels warmer, like a breath of fresh air in summer. Alec is honest and he brings a sense of warmth to the otherwise cold and dreary hospital room. He brings coffee on the days Magnus feels like he’s dragging; they converse over lunch when Alec can spare a minute. They even visit the kids again.

When it comes to Ragnor’s condition, Alec is honest in the way that matters most. He’s attentive and well-informed, giving Magnus the answers he needs to hear, not sugarcoating over with flimsy phrases like  _ Everything is going to be alright. _

In those three weeks, Magnus learns a little about Alec too. From one statement from the doctor, he has a sister about three and a half years younger than himself. He doesn’t give Magnus many details about her though; not her job, nor her interests, no more than a childhood memory Alec had shared.

Magnus learns the origin of Alec’s nickname, how it originated because of his sister. As a child, she had trouble forming the  _ x _ sound in Alec’s name, therefore it came out more as a  _ c _ rather than an  _ x _ . It’s a story that brings a smile to Alec’s face, but at the same time, there’s a sadness to his eyes.

It’s something Magnus doesn’t dare prod into.

It’s a look Magnus can very well recognize. It’s a look he often wears whenever Raphael or Catarina come to visit Ragnor. They bring stories of the past, of happy memories to combat the aching feeling of uncertainty and sadness in the room. Though there’s always a smile on Magnus’ face hearing those stories, it’s only a phantom of what it should be.

In the three weeks, Magnus learns that there are good and bad days. The bad days are awful, weighing him down with guilt and regret and ache in his chest. Those are the days he’s exhausted despite getting plenty of sleep, the days he wants to just never get up out of bed. They’re the days he convinces himself that Ragnor is dead and gone, and that he was too late to apologize for being the worst goddamn friend in the history of the universe.

But the good days are better, and with each day, there are more of them.

He learns more about the good days when he steps foot on campus for the second time since Ragnor’s hospitalization. Though he had convinced himself that he’d be in a better mindset this time, there’s still this daunting feeling thrumming in his chest. It’s odd, he thinks, as it feels like the first day he came to the university to give his first lecture since earning his doctorate. He swallows the lump in his throat, nevertheless, and makes his way into the lecture hall.

It’s when he steps into the room that his nerves completely vanish.

In the room, all the students are there. Their eyes lock on him, then to the board, where a message is written across the screen with  _ We love you, Dr. Bane! _ along with a gift basket and cards reminding him of how much his students care for him and how they are all wishing for Ragnor’s recovery.

He might have cried and ruined his makeup that day, but he can’t bear to be mad about that in the slightest.

After that, it slips into a routine. Magnus alternates between the life at the university and the life at the hospital. He teaches to his students, then goes to the hospital, grading tests and worksheets and complaining to Ragnor about some of the really bad ones. He knows Ragnor can’t hear him, but he likes to think that maybe he could, and maybe he’s just as exasperated as Magnus is.

And it’s that thought that keeps Magnus going. It’s that thought that gives him hope.

X

Before he can really think twice about it, October comes in full swing, and fall break descends upon them. It’s just a few days break, but the more days he can spend with Ragnor, the better.

But when Magnus comes to the hospital that Thursday evening, it’s strangely quiet.

Granted, the ICU is always quiet apart from the conversations between the staff and the steady beeping of the heart monitors. Nevertheless, Magnus finds the silence odd.

Ragnor’s room is still the same. The TV is on and playing the  _ Fresh Prince of Bel-Air _ reruns. The heart monitor beeps steadily, and the harsh gasp of the ventilator follows a second after. Stepping in, Magnus pulls the curtain closed behind him and pads over to Ragnor’s beside. He places his messenger bag down in the chair before turning to Ragnor. He looks better since they’ve taken the bandages off. Magnus can’t help but chuckle a bit at the odd image of a bald Ragnor. The smile soon fades as his eyes trail across the seam of Ragnor’s skull where the incision was made. It’s healing well, but the overall appearance of it still leaves him unsettled.

“It’s looking better,” Magnus says aloud, despite knowing Ragnor can’t hear him. “I can’t say much for your hair though.” He looks down to Ragnor’s arm, brushing his fingertips against the skin lightly. “It’ll grow back,” he assures, trying to convince himself. “Don’t worry.”

He looks back up to Ragnor and smiles, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to the skin just above his eyebrow before pulling away and settling himself in the chair next to the bed.

It’s maybe twenty minutes into grading lab notebooks that the curtain shuffles again. Magnus turns at the sound, expecting to see Alec standing in the doorway with that oh-so-hopeful smile. But the doctor isn’t there. Instead, it’s another intensive nurse, one he hasn’t quite met yet.

Magnus is a bit shocked at how young the nurse looks. He doesn’t look a day over twenty, a young face with a strong jawline, dark hair that has a slight curl to it, and a pair of bulky, slightly-rounded frames that pair well with his brown eyes. He wears the classic wine-colored scrubs that the rest of the nursing staff wear. Meeting Magnus’ eyes, he smiles brightly.

“Dr. Bane,” the nurse greets, “good evening.”

Magnus does another once over of the nurse’s form. “Good evening, Mr.…?”

The nurse turns from the handwash station to put on some gloves. “Lewis,” he starts, “Simon Lewis.” The glove on his left hand snaps slightly as he tugs it on. “I’m a neuroscience nurse, but I also have intensivist training. I alternate with Jennifer from time to time.”

Magnus blinks in surprise, a bit dumbfounded by the young nurse’s—Simon’s—skill set. He watches as Simon walks over to the foot of Ragnor’s bed, pulling open the chart and scribbling down a few things.

_ Neuroscience nurse… _ Magnus thinks.  _ Does that mean he knows Alexander? _

“Do you happen to know where Alexander is?” Magnus asks, voicing his thoughts. “I usually see him when I come in, but I haven’t yet.”

Simon’s brows furrow and he frowns, looking up from his paperwork. “Alexander?” he questions. “Oh, you mean Alec?”

Magnus nods.

“He’s actually in the OR today,” Simon informs. “It’s with one of his other patients in the neurology wing that’s been scheduled for some time now.” He looks back to Magnus. “But he did ask me to make sure that someone would come and check on Dr. Fell ever so often. And though Alec can’t be here himself, the other intensive neurologist will be making rounds in his stead.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Magnus mutters with a hint of disappointment. “Will he be back today, or…?”

Simon closes the chart and places it back in the slot near the foot of the bed. “It’s hard to say,” he sighs. “It’s a tumor removal in a relatively low-risk area, but a number of things could happen in surgery. I can’t guarantee when he’ll get out for certain.” He gives a sad shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Magnus assures. “Thank you though.”

A silence falls between them as Simon goes back to tending to Ragnor’s side. He opens the computer next to the bedside, bringing up different files and typing and changing things on them. He looks at vitals and checks the IV’s, everything Magnus has seen the other nurses do. And yet, Magnus still finds himself wondering.

“How is he?” Magnus starts tentatively.

Simon clicks another screen on the computer, analyzing its contents. “From his morning results, it still looks like he’s unresponsive. Fortunately, he’s doing well on the ventilator, and his tracheotomy procedure went smoothly. The skin doesn’t look inflamed or infected, which is good, and his vitals are looking relatively stable.” He looks over to the IV bags that hang next to the bed. “I’ll see if we can get another bag for him, though.”

Magnus nods. “Thank you, Samuel.”

“It’s Simon.”

Magnus hums once before he drops his gaze back down to the notebooks. He’s thankful that Maia is in his lab section, because her notebook is always neat.  _ Easy to follow, easy to grade, _ he thinks.

He grades through a handful of notebooks—some good and some absolutely  _ awful _ —before taking a break. He sits with Ragnor, watching  _ Fresh Prince _ and waiting for Simon to return with another IV bag.

The thought of Simon immediately makes him think of Alec. It makes sense that Alec wouldn’t be present every time Magnus was here, but Magnus still can’t help but feel a sense of disappointment settling in his chest. He enjoys talking to Alec, learning about him, his interests and passions, his practice and his extensive knowledge. He misses the company, strangely enough.

Magnus’ gaze pulls over to Ragnor once more.

_ Perhaps you’ve missed the company too, haven’t you? _

Guilt pangs in his chest then. He knows Ragnor has other friends, knows that he has spent just as much time with Catarina and Raphael as he has here in the hospital. He knows they probably spent far more time together during the year of Magnus’ absence. Magnus can’t help but wonder if Ragnor had even missed him at all after their fight.

He knows—honestly—that he had missed Ragnor’s presence in his everyday life. They were best friends who spent years together. They’d been to hell and back together. But then suddenly Magnus had blinked, and it was over. Magnus has lost track of the number of times he’s wanted to ask Catarina or Raphael how Ragnor was doing. Sure, he knows of Ragnor’s recent accomplishments—like his thesis that explored the verticality of medieval literature—but he has no idea of what Ragnor has done in his day to day life. Does he still take his coffee as black as his soul? Does he still love going to the park to read on a nice day? Does he still fall asleep at his desk and wake up to a document full of E’s? All the questions that come to Magnus’ mind go unanswered. He doesn’t know anything because he was too prideful to reach out. That stupid, selfish pride of his and the fact that he was scared and—

The harsh slide of the curtain pulls Magnus from the train of thought. He turns, looking back to the entryway—half expecting to see Simon, half hoping its Alec—only to see neither of the two.

Instead, he is greeted by a different doctor. He’s perhaps as tall as Alec is, with kind features and warm eyes. His blond hair is cut rather short, done in a style Magnus has seen on exactly every business man ever, and he wears soft smile as he steps into the room.

“Dr. Bane?”

Magnus opens his mouth to retort, but before he can say anything, his eyes lock on another figure stepping in behind the doctor. Unlike the blond-haired doctor, this man is dressed sharply in a dark dress shirt, tie, and slacks. His long, dark hair is also restrained behind him.

Magnus immediately finds the second man’s presence off-putting.

The doctor steps closer, effectively breaking Magnus’ gaze on the other man. He offers a brighter smile and a hand as he speaks. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet, but my name is Stephen Underhill. I’m one of the intensivists overseeing Dr. Fell while he stays here in the ICU,” he introduces.

Magnus closes his hand around Underhill’s, shaking it firmly. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Underhill,” he counters with a slight smile. As Underhill steps back, Magnus’ eyes wander over to the other man. “And you are?”

The other man smiles, and Magnus’ stomach turns uncomfortably as he steps forward. “My name is Lorenzo Rey,” he introduces. “I’m a counselor with the Southshore Medical Foundation.”

“He’s here to meet and discuss with you some options regarding Dr. Fell’s future care,” Underhill elaborates.

Rey steps forward then, holding out his hand with his smile still present. Magnus takes his hand with hesitance, giving it a firm shake. Despite the kind demeanor of they exhibit, Magnus can’t help but feel on edge. Something about this seems wrong—off somehow.

Before Magnus can think otherwise, Rey steps away, turning his gaze over to Ragnor. His shoes are loud against the floor, tapping as he wanders over to Ragnor’s bedside. His hand graces the foot of the bed, brushing against the bedspread.

“I’ve read a few of his books,” he starts somewhat solemnly. “He always had an amazing way with words and was very insightful with the topics he researched.” His lips turn up in a sad smile as he pulls his hand back. “It truly is unfortunate.”

He turns back to Magnus, opening the folder he had tucked under his arm. He thumbs through a couple of papers before handing a flyer to Magnus. “I understand how hard it is to see someone you love in so much pain. We wanted you to have some options in terms of palliative and hospice care. This flyer shows all the services we offer at Southshore. I assure you that Dr. Fell would be cared for and ensured a comfortable environment in these last few months.”

Complete silence follows Lorenzo’s words. There’s a chorus of laughter from the TV above, then the gasp of the ventilator and the pulse of the heart monitor. Magnus’ hands shake as he holds the paper, letting the words sink into his bones.

_ These last few months, _ Rey had said.  _ He’s as good as dead. _

“…how dare you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“How dare you,” Magnus says again, this time a bit louder. He crumples the paper in his hands as anger bubbles in his gut. “How dare you come in here and shove your fliers in my face. How dare you try and worm your way in here with your fake sympathy and false words just to promote your goddamn business. Ragnor isn’t  _ dying. _ He’s in a coma for Christ’s sake!”

“Dr. Bane, please calm down,” Underhill interjects, stepping into Magnus’ peripheral vision. He lays a hand against Magnus’ shoulder. “Mr. Rey was just—”

“You get away from me!” Magnus yells, pushing Underhill back a bit. He glares daggers at the doctor. “ _ You _ let him in here.  _ You’re _ the one who’s supposed to be  _ caring  _ for him! It is a doctor’s job to take care of their patient, not sell them off to hospice just because you aren’t getting the results you wanted.” Anger seeps into his bloodstream, boiling him from the inside out. “I want the both of you out of this room, now. I don’t want to see another doctor’s face in this room unless it’s Dr. Lightwood’s.”

“Dr. Bane,” Rey interjects again calmly, “you can’t keep denying the fact that your friend is unresponsive. It isn’t that we do not care for Dr. Fell. We do. We care for both our patient and our patient’s family, and because we care, we are obligated to give you all the options Dr. Fell has.” He takes a breath before continuing. “I know you may not want to hear it, but Dr. Fell has been unresponsive for nearly a month. He cannot breathe without the assistance of a ventilator and cannot receive nutrition without an IV. Though he looks fine now, no man can live in a comatose state forever. Would you rather him waste away in a bed, kept alive only by machines? Would you subject him to suffer through a life in a body he can no longer control? Is  _ that _ what you really want for him?”

“SHUT UP!” Magnus yells out. The room quiets again, but Magnus’ breath comes out in harsh pants. “You…You don’t know anything about Ragnor. Or me. He’s going to come out of it. He’s  _ going  _ to.”

_ He has to, _ Magnus thinks.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Bane,” Rey starts apologetically, stepping forward to place a gentle hand on Magnus’ shoulder. “We just want you to be prepared when—”

Rey’s words are cut off abruptly as Magnus lunges forward, fury flowing in his veins as his fist lands a blow against Rey’s face. Rey stumbles and falls to the floor. His pamphlets scatter and his clipboard clatters against the tile.

Magnus is on him in a millisecond, landing punch after punch against the funeral counselor’s face.

He’s incredibly stable like this, towering above Rey as he delivers blow after blow. He knows exactly where to punch, where to beat and crack bone with little harm to himself. He knows the familiar feeling of nails scraping against his skin, of arms flailing helplessly against him.

All he can see is red, flushed crimson in his vision and on his hands. It’s pounding in his ears—loud as a drum—as he beats in punch after punch after punch.

Rey’s shaky hands fly up, trying to protect his face as Magnus brings his fist back, preparing for another blow. “People die, Dr. Bane!” he cries out. “Even if you may not like it, it’s a hard fact of life, and—”

“ _ Shut up! _ ” Magnus yells back at him. He brings his fist down, and this time the punches are harder. There’s a crack—he can hear it—his hands are coming back red, pooling and runny. His rings are glimmering crimson. It’s red, red, red.

Everything is red.

There are flames under his skin, hot bouts of lava scorching his veins as he delivers blow after blow. He can feel Rey’s hands on him once more, trying to push him away weakly. With every punch, there’s a resounding cry, a garbled tone, the hits of his hands growing weaker by the second. Magnus can see lips moving, but the sound is silent against the pounding in his ears. His hands are starting to hurt, sore with each new punch and—

“Dr. Bane, stop!” Another voice yells through the thickness of his rage. Arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him back harshly towards the floor. He’s thrust down, turned over so his chest touches the cold tiled floor. Dr. Underhill is there, pressing him down and securing an arm behind his back in attempts to restrain him.

It’s still so red.

_ This doctor isn’t helping, _ Magnus thinks blindly.  _ He brought Rey here. He wants Ragnor dead, too. _

Magnus scrambles to get the upper hand then, scuffling and resisting against Underhill. He manages to find an opening when the pressure on his arm lifts just slightly, and he turns, swinging an elbow.

Though the doctor is able to dodge his elbow, Magnus is quick to turn, throwing a punch with his other arm—now free from the doctor’s hold. Without hesitation, he lands the blow that makes an impressive crack against Underhill’s jaw.

The hit jostles Underhill backwards, nearly hitting the IV stand and ventilator station. Magnus huffs out a harsh breath, lungs on fire, before he gets up, turning back to Underhill. He starts towards the doctor, ready to launch another series of punches to the man’s face and—

There’s a sharp sound of metal scraping against metal, and suddenly there are arms around Magnus’ middle, screaming in his ears.

“—gnus!” the voice calls distantly. Magnus’ eyes don’t waver from Underhill, who looks rather shocked and horrified. He tries to pry himself from the grip, but the pair of arms only tighten, pulling Magnus back until he’s flush against what feels like a wall.

“Magnus!” it yells again, a bit clearer this time. “Magnus,  _ STOP _ !”

The professor stops for a brief second as the sound registers in his ears.

That’s Alec’s voice.

Alec is here.

Magnus stops blindly struggling at the thought, but as his eyes focus on Underhill again, he’s moving once more, trying to pry off Alec’s arms around him. He’s successful, but not without making painful marks in Alec’s arms. Before he can take another run at Underhill, however, Alec steps in his way.

“Move, Alec!” Magnus yells, the inferno of anger still swelling in his chest. “That son of a bitch doesn’t deserve to be a doctor! He brought that…that lowlife in here! They don’t care about Ragnor at all! They want him dead! It’s their fault and—!”

“I don’t care what they did!” Alec yells back. His eyes are serious, hazel flickering with fury. “Do you understand what you could’ve done? If you had knocked Underhill just a foot further, the IV and ventilator could’ve taken serious damage.” He scowls. “Not only did you assault two members of this hospital, but you nearly killed your friend in the process.”

Magnus freezes then, the fiery anger in his veins turning to a bone-chilling cold in a matter of seconds. His gaze drifts over to Ragnor. He’s fine, still motionless as can be. He doesn’t look disturbed in the slightest, with the ventilator still attached and the IV drip in his arm.

His gaze travels from the bed over towards the other side of the room, to where Rey is sprawled across the floor. It looks like a war zone. Rey’s face is bruised and bloodied, and there’s red painted grotesquely against the white tile. He doesn’t move at all, and Magnus wonders distantly if he’s even breathing.

The nurses swarm in not a moment later. One goes to Ragnor’s side, and another to Underhill’s. Jennifer and Simon crouch down to Rey, assessing him. Their words don’t reach Magnus’ ears, however. It’s all silent now. Deafening, horrible silence.

_ Oh my god,  _ he thinks incredulously, _ I nearly punched a man to death. _

“I’m sorry,” Magnus whispers out, eyes glued to the nurses hands as they tend to his wounds. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so,  _ so _ sorry—”

“ _ Alec _ ,” Jennifer warns, looking Over her shoulder as she tends to Rey’s beaten form. Her eyes focus over to Magnus. Her gaze is dangerous, and she looks at Magnus as if he’s suddenly infectious. He all but cripples underneath her fiery gaze. “Get him out of here.  _ NOW _ .”

There’s so much spite and danger in her tone that Magnus fears. He looks to Simon, to the other nurses, to Underhill, all to be met with the same fearful, uncertain gaze.

“Don’t bother,” Magnus whispers again, eyes straying back to Lorenzo’s bloodied face. His hands have that same blood on them. It’s drying under his fingernails.

“Magnus—”

“I did this,” Magnus interrupts. “It’s my fault.” He shakes his head back and forth. “He’s bleeding to death on the floor and it’s all my fault.” His eyes meet Jennifer’s once more. “If you don’t mind, I’ll see myself out. I’ll wait outside, and if possible, I’d like to know your decision on whether or not you’ll let me visit ever again.” He gives Jennifer a half smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before wordlessly turning out from the room, ignoring Alec’s call.

He presses the button to open the door with blood on his hands.

The last thing he hears is the nurses calling a code.

_ It’s official, _ Magnus thinks to himself,  _ you’re a murderer. _

X

He’s so stupid.

Magnus says that to himself as he sits outside the ICU. He’s been seated on this bench for what seems like forever since they kicked out for the time being.

_ Of course they have _ , he thinks to himself, _ you punched a doctor and endangered the life of a patient. _

His brow furrows at the thought. He was reckless, and if it had gotten any worse, he could’ve hurt Ragnor more in the process.

The thought pulls an aggravated sigh from him as he buries his face into his hands, still sore from the punches he delivered. His hand hurts a bit, a dull throb resonating in his knuckles. He pushes his hands across his face and into the long strands of his hair, paying no mind to the product in his hair he’s probably ruining.

_ What were you thinking? _ he can practically hear Raphael and Catarina grilling him, swearing up and down for being so reckless. He couldn’t help it. He was just so  _ angry. _ Rey had been talking like Ragnor was already dead, like he would never come out of the coma. He couldn’t take anymore of Rey or Underhill’s demeaning words, so he—

God, he’s so stupid.

The doors to his left open not a few minutes later. Magnus doesn’t dare look up to see who it is, but the faint scent of pine tells him everything he needs to know.

“How’s Underhill?”

Alec doesn’t immediately respond, and as Magnus casts a glance up at him, he can see the doctor pursing his lips in a slight pout. He runs his fingers over his stubbly jawline in thought. “He’s nursing an impressive bruise on his right jaw,” he reports. “That, and a bit of bruised pride, but I think he’ll make it.”

There’s a teasing, light-hearted tone with those last few words, perhaps in attempts to comfort or lighten the situation. But it does nothing to soothe the regret pooling in Magnus’ chest. Magnus looks back down to his hands, brushing over his throbbing knuckles absentmindedly. Alec must notice the action, because not a moment later does he speak up.

“How are you doing?”

Magnus huffs, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” he assures, frowning down at his hands again.

“Do your hands hurt?”

“I told you, I’m fine, Alexander.”

Alec frowns at that, closing the distance between him and Magnus. He sits down next to Magnus on the bench, silently reaching for Magnus’ hands and pulling them into his lap. Before Magnus can retort, Alec’s careful fingers trace around the bruised surface of Magnus’ knuckles. Magnus seethes slightly at the action.

“You have a significant amount of bruising here,” he starts, brushing delicately against the discolored skin surrounding his knuckles. “You also have a significant amount of swelling, so it should be iced properly and given plenty of rest to ensure proper healing. Meaning no bearing heavy weights, no harsh flexes, nothing.”

Endearment prickles under his skin as Alec holds his hands and gives him a diagnosis. Magnus can’t help the slight smile that pulls at the corners of his lips.

“Will I make it, doctor?” he asks humorously.

Alec’s purses his lips at the thought, hazel eyes reflecting a similar humorous tone. “I’m not sure,” he starts. “I’d have to monitor you throughout the night in order to be absolutely certain.”

Magnus can’t help but flush a bit at that. Biting his lip slightly, he pulls his hands from Alec’s. “You’re incredibly stubborn, you know that?”

Alec shrugs. “Believe it or not, I’ve dealt with patients far more stubborn than you.” He smiles a bit, but it fades as he glances back at Magnus’ hands. “I’m serious though.”

“About the care, or monitoring me throughout the night?”

Alec flushes then, suddenly aware of how the wording comes off. “O-Oh, uh…the—the care, I mean.”

“So no overnight monitoring?” Magnus pouts. “What a shame.”

Alec tries to suppress a smile, but fails miserably. He clears his throat as he pulls his gaze away from Magnus. “With as much time as you spend here in the hospital, I would think you’d prefer a night away from all the medical talk.”

Magnus’ smile falters a bit as he looks back down to his lap. He fondles his rings nervously. “It’s better than being home,” he confesses. “At least here I don’t have to be alone.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Alec sighs. “There really aren’t a lot of moments where you’re left alone in a hospital.” He looks over to Magnus. “You know, if there’s ever a moment where you feel lonely, you can get one of the nurses to page me.”

“And if you’re not here?”

“I can be,” Alec says simply. “I’m just a phone call away.”

Magnus’ lips twitch up in a small smile. “There’s only one problem: I don’t have your number.”

Alec hums, soon placing his hand face up on Magnus’ knee. He makes a grabby motion a couple of times. “Well then let’s change that.”

Magnus chuckles, fishing out his phone from his coat pocket. “You’re absolutely stupid, you know that?”

There’s not a response from Alec as he opens Magnus phone, tapping into his contacts and adding his number. Magnus watches as his fingers move across the screen, and somehow he knows exactly what he’s typing.

_ Alexander. _

He hands Magnus back his phone with a smile. “Now I’m just a phone call away.”

Magnus looks down to the phone, taking it back into his hands. His fingers brush Alec’s slightly, and despite the chill around him, Alec’s hands are warm.

It falls into a pleasant silence then, with just the two of them sitting in the hall outside the ICU. His eyes catch the windows across the hall, out into the dark October night. The city is still bright, lit up and glowing. It seems distant, though, like Magnus is looking out at a world he doesn’t recognize.

It’s odd. It’s strange because for a moment, Magnus can’t remember a life outside this hospital. Though he goes to university—and sometimes the Waffle House down the street—he hardly goes anywhere else. That’s his life: teaching and sitting around all day in a hospital. He can’t remember the last time he went out for coffee that is actually good, the last time he went to go see a movie, or the last time he went out with someone who wasn’t Catarina or Raphael.

Outside those windows is a world he doesn’t recognize. It’s a world that continues to spin, that continues on and doesn’t worry about someone sitting in an ICU.

It’s a world he’s no longer a part of.

“So—” Magnus starts, desperate to escape his thoughts, “how’d your surgery go?”

Alec hums. “Smoothly,” he starts. “It was just a tumor removal. Benign, easily accessible.” He picks a bit at his fingernails. “They’ll spend a night in the surgical ICU, but we expect they’ll make a full recovery.”

“Wow,” Magnus replies a bit lamely. Despite his incredulous tone, his response still seems to fall short. Rolling his shoulders, he tries again. “You’re an incredible surgeon, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you do these amazing surgeries, poking around people’s brains and spines and nerves and doing what seems impossible. You save and extend lives. You give people hope. You—” he glances back to Alec. “You’re  _ amazing _ , Alexander.” Guilt seeps back in his chest then, suddenly reminded of the dried blood under his fingernails. “You’re far more amazing than I could ever be.”

“ _ Hey, _ ” Alec whispers softly, taking Magnus’ hands in his own. He ducks down, desperate to meet Magnus’ gaze. “None of that. You’re amazing too, Magnus.”

Magnus snorts. “Hardly. I nearly killed a man today. I don’t save lives, Alexander. I end them.” He frowns, picking at the edge of his nail polish. “I destroy and…that’s all I’m good at.” Alec opens his mouth to retort, but Magnus beats him to it. “I’m sorry. I just—I can’t be here right now.” He pushes off from the bench, turning his back to the doctor. “I’m just gonna…go home.”

He expects Alec to stop him, to retort and ask him to stay. But the doctor surprises him.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “If that’s what you need.”

Magnus doesn’t turn back to face him, but nods a couple times. He forces himself to move his legs that feel like cement. He walks, all the way to the end of the hall, ready to turn the corner.

But he stops.

He can’t go home. Home is where no one is waiting for him. Home is where there is every reminder of a life he no longer has, of a friendship that’s long been over. He can’t go home. Not now. Not to that lonely place.

And with that thought, he reaches into his pocket, fishing out his phone. He scrolls to his contacts, onto a familiar name, and initiates the call. There’s a tone, and with a deep breath, Magnus presses the phone to his cheek and waits.

Exactly twelve seconds later, Alec’s phone chimes. It rings three times before the line picks up. He can feel Alec’s eyes on his back as he speaks. “Alexander?”

“Yes?”

Magnus’ lower lip trembles slightly. “I’m lonely.”

There’s a moment of silence, and in that moment, Magnus turns to see Alec smiling warmly at him, phone still pressed to his cheek.

“I’m on my way.”

X

Alec’s flat is warm.

It’s warm in the ways the hospital is not, with a sense of comfort and belonging from the second he walks in. The instant Alec flips on the lights, Magnus is surrounded by glowing yellow light. It shines up from above, down from the exposed beam ceilings and olive-colored walls of the hall. It shines against the countless frames and shelves of books to his left and reflects against the mirror standing at his right. As he turns the corner, the light from the kitchen casts away the chilling October cold still nipping at the tip of his nose. The olive walls transform into exposed brick, contrasting with dark metal beams and old wood finishings. To his right are a set of black shades, hiding away a window that shows the cityscape.

Needless to say, Magnus feels instantly thankful that he gave Alec a call.

“The bedroom is upstairs,” Alec starts, walking over to the couch and shrugging off his coat. “I only have one bed, but the couch is a pull out, so don’t worry about having to sleep on the floor or anything.” He turns back towards Magnus with a soft smile. “Can I show you upstairs?”

Magnus nods silently, following Alec upstairs to the loft. Alec flicks on another light near the top of the stairs, and the string of lights hanging just below the top shelf of books comes alive, bathing the room in a soft glow. The tendrils of the shag carpet brush under his feet, providing a welcoming support the hard floors of the hospital hadn’t. Tucked over in the corner is the bed, decorated with a series of colorful pillows from reds to blues to yellows. It pairs well with the cream colored, duvet and patterned quilt that rests at the foot of the mattress.

“The bathroom is right here,” Alec perks up once more, tapping his knuckles lightly against the black door. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

Magnus blinks a bit, uncertainty flooding his veins. “But…aren’t I taking the couch?” he questions innocently.

Alec shakes his head. “You’re my guest,” he explains, “and I am more than willing to let you take the bed. You need rest, and you won’t get that on some hard couch bed.”

Magnus frowns. “But you’re the doctor. You tend to patients and do amazing things. Surely you need more rest than I.”

“Magnus, I’ll be fine,” Alec persists. “It’s not my first time falling asleep on that couch bed. I’m quite used to it.”

Before Magnus can retort, Alec turns away to descend the staircase. Magnus can see him pad into the living room from the loft above and start to place the cushions of the couch off to the side to bring out the mattress hidden underneath.

Magnus looks back to the bed— _ Alec’s bed _ —he thinks a bit distractedly. It’s plenty big enough for two, and Magnus can feel the guilt seeping back into his chest at the thought that Alec is sacrificing his bed for someone like Magnus. Magnus punched his friend for heaven’s sakes. Alec should be mad at him, shouldn’t he?

He sighs, running a hand across his face as he turns into the bathroom. He flicks the lights on, greeted by the dark grey walls of the bathroom. He steps inside, closing the door behind him as he approaches the mirror. He doesn’t meet the eyes of his reflection, for he knows he probably looks a mess, exhausting decorating his every feature.

Instead, he pulls open a couple of drawers, eventually finding some wipes to remove his makeup with. Normally he doesn’t take it off until he’s certain he’s alone because the tiredness, the bags under his eyes, the faded dark spots on his face aren’t the most beautiful sight in the world. His bare face isn’t beautiful, and he’d rather not subject anyone to its ugliness.

But right now, he’s exhausted, and his makeup just feels like another heavy weight on his body. He takes off everything, rubbing at his eyes and face until nothing remains. He washes his face and dries it. Looking up at the mirror once more, he frowns at his reflection.

_ Ugly. _

_ An abomination. _

His hands tremble at those last two words, and he turns away from the mirror in attempts to quell the memories threatening to seep up. He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs out unevenly, turning back to the door. He opens it just in time to see that Alec has come back upstairs and is now completely devoid of his shirt and pants, donning only plain black boxer briefs.

Magnus’ first instinct is to look away, but the young doctor is  _ toned. _ His back is well sculpted, his biceps are very impressive, and that chest—with toned pecks dusted with hair and abs for days and the happy trail leading down to his—

“M-Magnus!”

Alec’s near yelp of surprise makes Magnus’ gaze snap up. His cheeks flare hot, and he probably matches Alec’s wide-eyed, flushed expression perfectly.

“I, uh—y-you—” Magnus flounders like a fish, mouth opening and closing in attempts to voice words lodged in his throat. He tries to keep his eyes on Alec’s face, but it fails as his eyes glance back down to his chest. He swallows thickly. “I…didn’t think you’d be out here,” he says finally.

“It’s my fault,” Alec says somewhat hurriedly, fumbling with the grey shirt in his hands. “I should’ve changed downstairs.”

Magnus nods stiffly, not really sure how else to reply. “I’ll just…” he trails, pointing over his shoulder before he turns around.

The sound of fabric rustling fills the space as Magnus closes his eyes, breathing deeply in attempts to ground himself and tame the blush on his cheeks.

“Okay,” Alec sighs out. “You can turn around now.”

Hesitantly, Magnus turns back to see Alec wearing a grey t-shirt and black sweats that pool around his ankles. Alec is 6’3” and yet somehow there are pants that extend longer than his long legs do. He trails his gaze up just in time to meet Alec’s gaze, a hint of bewilderment crossing his features.

“Is something wrong?” Magnus asks, hesitance lacing his words.

Alec blinks once before shaking his head. “No, it’s just…you aren’t wearing any makeup.”

Insecurity blooms in Magnus’ chest.  _ You’re ugly, repulsive, no one could love something like you— _

“It looks good,” Alec adds a second later with a small smile. “Not to say that you don’t look good with it on. You always look great.”

It’s supposed to be a compliment, Magnus knows. The appropriate reaction would be to flush, to mutter a silent  _ thank you _ as he accepts the praise. Yet it only worsens the sickening feeling in his stomach. He drops his gaze away from Alec’s frame, diverting to the rug under him and letting the silence bleed into the air around them.

Alec seems to notice Magnus’ tense posture, turning away from him to rifle through the drawers once more. “Here,” he starts, pulling out an old, worn Gun’s and Roses t-shirt and a pair of dark sweatpants. “I thought it’d be more comfortable than sleeping in jeans.”

There’s a solid minute after Alec places the clothes on the duvet that Magnus goes to reach for it. As he collects the clothes and turns back to the bathroom, Alec perks up once more.

“Are you hungry?”

He’s  _ starving. _ Magnus hasn’t eaten anything besides the less-than-appetizing, slightly stale muffin he had for breakfast. The coffee in his system has gone, and he’s drained. Exhausted. He should really eat something.

“I’m fine,” he says instead, forehead pressed against the door’s surface.

“Okay,” Alec replies. “Let me know if you change your mind, and I’ll make you something.”

Alec’s bare feet patter against the hard wood floor as he turns away from Magnus. Magnus’ hand secures itself around the handle of the door. Before he can push himself back into the bathroom, Alec perks up again.

“Magnus?”

“Hm?”

Their eyes meet then, and it’s electric. It’s shock that resonates in Magnus’ chest, and there’s a calm that washes over him. There’s something there, in the space between them, in the flicker of sympathy in Alec’s eyes, that somehow calms Magnus’ raging thoughts. Alec looks at him, not as if he’s broken or damaged. He looks at him the same way he looks at others. He looks at Magnus as if he’s normal.

Alec’s smile is barely there, but there’s warmth in his eyes. “Sleep well. I’m just a call away if you need me.”

Magnus’ heart stutters in his chest. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

“Goodnight, Magnus.”

And with that, Alec descends the stairs and Magnus changes into Alec’s clothes that are just a bit tight in the shoulders and far too loose around the waist. He gets into a bed far more comfortable than his own, surrounded by the smell of books and the illumination of the fairy lights. He lies on his back, sighing as his eyes meet the skylight, gazing up into the stars above.

Looking at the stars reminds him of Ragnor. It reminds him of the nights Ragnor dragged him out to camp in the wilderness, when he snuck Magnus out of his hospital room and to the rooftop. It reminds him of the existential talks, the old mythologies of the stars and constellations. His lips twitch up in a smile at the memory.

He closes his eyes and sighs, letting the memories wash over him once more.

Ragnor is the last person on his mind before he drifts into sleep.

X

It’s warm.

The sun is bright, hanging high in the air as the wind blows through his hair. It’s just on the right side of cool, providing a refreshing comfort from the unbearable heat of summer. It messes up his hair—not like he had really styled it today anyways—as they drive down the coastline. The ocean is only a mile or so away, and Magnus can smell the crisp tang of salt in the air and can hear the echoed coo of the seagulls flying above. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head back, letting the sun paint across his face.

It’s warm.

Magnus loves travelling to the beach. He loves the sand, the sea, the people and the culture. Miami is especially beautiful this time of year, and he relishes in the atmosphere around him.

“I don’t know what you see in this place,” a refined yet annoyed voice starts. Magnus opens his eyes, sitting up from the lounge chair as he turns to throw an unimpressed look at his friend. “The music here is too loud and there are far too many people for this to be considered ‘relaxing’,” they grope.

Magnus rolls his eyes as he watches Ragnor sit back down in the lounge chair beside his. Ragnor brings out his notebook, the one Magnus knows contains excerpts of his newest book, flipping through the pages in attempts to qualm his irritation.

“Oh come on, Ragnor,” Magnus whines. “We’re supposed to be on vacation, enjoying our time off.” He glances down at the book. “Can’t you just put off work for one day?”

“I could if you had actually picked a decent place to stay,” Ragnor counters, throwing a glare as his gaze follows a couple of ladies in bikinis that seem to have far too little fabric.

Magnus pouts. “It’s a beachside resort, Ragnor. There’s plenty to do. Hell, if you hate it out here, just go to the spa inside.” He squints, leaning forward to inspect Ragnor’s face. He reaches out to press lightly against Ragnor’s temple. “Are those wrinkles I see?”

Ragnor swats away Magnus’ hand and scowls. “I’m forty-five, not ninety.”

“Are you sure? Cause I think I’m starting to see some grey hairs…”

“Oh, piss off.”

Magnus can’t help but laugh as he pulls back, sitting back in his chair. “C’mon Ragnor. Live a little. In the meantime,” he trails, standing up from his chair and stretching, “I’m going to get a drink.”

He can see Ragnor’s wide eyed look of horror in the corner of his eye and Magnus has to restrain the chuckle bubbling in his throat.

“Relax. They make things called ‘ _ Virgins _ ’ for a reason.”

Magnus turns then, his feet winding in the hot sand as he turns towards the resort, to the shaded hut not even fifty feet from where they’ve set up. The shade provides relief for his hot skin, and he maneuvers through the various bar patrons sitting at tables and standing waiting for their drinks.

“Two piña coladas’,” Magnus orders in a half-yell. “Make them virgins, please.”

The bartender nods and makes quick work of his drinks. As he waits, he turns his gaze to the other patrons of the bar, watching as some of them sit at the tables, sipping beer and liquor and it’s so familiar but at the same time he feels so distant. It’s been so long since—

“Two piña coladas’,” the bartender calls back, commanding Magnus’ attention back to the bar. He takes the two drinks in hand, placing them on the counter and grabbing a couple of straws and some napkins. Just as he turns to head back to a grumpy Ragnor, he turns right into another person.

“Oh!” the young woman he bumps into squeals in surprise. Unlike Magnus—who happens to keep a surprising handle on his drinks, the one in her hand spills between them. Magnus can feel the cool liquid splash against his chest.

“Oh my God, I am  _ so  _ sorry,” the woman in front of him says hurriedly, placing her glass on the counter and trading it for some napkins, pressing them against his chest to dab up the spilt drink. He steels himself a bit at the strong scent of vodka that hits his nose, but he relaxes a bit as she dabs it away. “I wasn’t paying attention, and it’s completely my fault and—”

And her sentence seems to cut off then, as they make eye contact with each other. Time seems to freeze for Magnus, because the second he meets her eyes, he’s gone.

He can’t breathe.

The young woman is absolutely gorgeous, with dark tendrils of hair extending just past her shoulders. He’s drawn in to her dark brown eyes, reflecting surprise and a spark of something else he can’t quite pinpoint. Her lashes are long, and the slight smoky eye she has only makes her eyes pop more. She smells of roses, of light and mirth. He gets lost in the rosy pink of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes, and the ghost of her touch. It leaves him breathless, yearning in the best way. Her smile makes his heart stutter twice in his chest.

“I promise, I’m not normally this clumsy,” she says finally, pulling the napkins from Magnus’ chest. She bites her lip as she looks away to place the ruined napkins on the counter.

“So is spilling your drink on someone just a convenient pick-me-up?” he asks teasingly.

She laughs and Magnus beams at the sound. “It wasn’t intentional, but I’m not complaining…” she says, tone dipping a bit lower as her eyes trail from his face down to his chest and back up. Magnus tries to keep his blush manageable, but probably fails miserably.

“I’m Magnus,” he greets coolly with a lopsided grin.

“Camille.” She glances down at the drinks in his hand. “Is anyone expecting you back?”

Magnus looks down to his drinks, placing one on the counter. “Not anytime soon. I’m sure he’d rather be left alone anyways. Could I buy you a drink?”

Camille smiles back, stepping a bit closer to him. Her manicured nails brush against his bicep. “You could. Or…” she trails, lips hovering close to his ear, “I could make us some drinks. My room has quite the amenities.”

“O-Oh,” Magnus flushes. “I…I don’t—”

“Or we could skip the drinks and just get to know each other a bit more.”

Magnus swallows thickly, words lodged in his throat as desire simmers in his gut. He follows her upstairs, stumbling into her room overlooking the beachside. They fall to the bed and Magnus’ brain shuts down. His breath is taken from him with each touch and gasp against her skin.

He can’t breathe.

The room is hot and he’s sweating and the music in the background is suddenly so loud. He can feel the thrum of the bass in his chest and the chatter of people below. He can feel Camille’s hands, her moans, her body pressed up against his. There are those kisses across his neck, the ones that drive him insane, the slight tug on his earlobe, the hot pulse of breath against his ear.

“ _ C’mon, _ ” she whispers, “ _ it’ll feel so good baby. _ ”

Magnus threads his brows together, the beat of the music hurting his head. It’s suddenly too stuffy,  _ too much _ all at once—

He can’t breathe.

The scent around him is sour, and it burns his nostrils. It feels like he’s inhaled sand, its coarse texture tearing up his sinuses and—

Magnus opens his eyes suddenly, gasping for breath and—

_ No. _

_ No. No. No. No. _

Magnus screams, kicking away from the table. No one looks up, too blissed out or dead to care. His limbs are jelly, the world tilts—

He can’t  _ breathe _ .

Everything hurts. His breathing is off, irregular and fragmented. He scratches at his arms, at the shaking of his bones and the crawling under his skin. He pulls at his hair.

It’s all too loud.

There are shouts, screams in the darkness. Magnus covers his ears, folding in on himself to try and disappear, to try and forget. But then a glass breaks, there’s a shout, and his breath is knocked out from his lungs once more.

He can’t breathe.

_ He can’t breathe— _

Magnus shoots up from the bed then, a loud, shuddering gasp ripping from his lungs. His eyes dart around, looking for something to familiarize himself, anything to ground him. He looks to the thick duvets, the handmade quilts, the fairy lights twinkling above him. He looks to the books on the shelves and the photos on the wall, and—

And oh—he’s still at Alec’s.

Magnus swallows thickly, coughing a couple of times at the dryness of his throat. He pushes away the sheets, planting his feet on the floor. There’s a rug under his feet, and his toes wiggle in the long strands of it. He smooths his hands over the sweats Alec gave him, trying to get his breathing back.

It doesn’t work.

He swallows again.

God, he really needs some water.

As silently as he can, he stands, ignoring his shaky legs as he descends the stairs to the lower area of the loft. He looks to the living space bathed in complete darkness. All he can hear is a faint little snore ever so often from where Alec must be sleeping on the couch. He eventually finds himself in the kitchen, searching a few cabinets until he finds a glass. Still shaking, he fills the glass, throat begging him for some sort of relief.

Magnus downs the water then, hoping to soothe his dried and scratchy throat. He takes one, two, three big gulps and—

And suddenly he chokes on the water, convulsing over the sink as he coughs into it. The water that felt so good just seconds ago feels like it’s drowning him, seizing the very air in his lungs until there’s nothing left. He gasps for air louder than he intends to, and as he coughs again, a voice perks up from the darkness.

“-gnus?”

Hurriedly, Magnus places the glass in the sink, wiping at his mouth and restraining himself from coughing again. His eyes water a bit as he clears his throat.

“Magnus?” it calls out again, slightly gravelly. There’s a shift of fabric in the darkness before Magnus hears feet padding against the floor. Not a moment later does Alec emerge from the darkness into the dim light, sleep present in his squinted eyes, in his rumpled hair, in his gravelly tone.

“Go back to sleep, Alec,” Magnus says, trying to brush off the fact he just choked on almost an entire glass of water.

Alec stays, stubbornly enough. He takes another step forward, those emerald-hazel eyes glancing over Magnus’ face. His fingertips brush against the sleeve of Magnus’ shirt and Magnus has to suppress a shiver. “Magnus,” he starts quietly, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he dissuades, pulling back. “I just came downstairs to get a drink of water, that’s all.”

Alec doesn’t seem to believe the statement at all. Magnus wouldn’t blame him. He’s still shaking slightly from everything in the dream, from the memories that resurfaced despite years of pushing them away.

Alec leans over to the sink, picking up the still half-full glass that lies in the sink. “Did you want any more?”

Magnus frowns at the glass before nodding, taking the glass from Alec once more.

“Just take it slow, okay?” Alec encourages softly. “Don’t take giant sips either.”

Magnus nods at his words, taking a shuddering breath before sipping down some more water.

There’s more relief this time. The panicked feeling coursing through his body settles some, and he can feel his throat unconstrict. He swallows another gulp before placing the glass back down, taking a breath that feels far smoother than any before.

“Better?” Alec asks, his concerned touch stationed back on Magnus’ elbow.

Magnus nods wordlessly, shutting his eyes and taking another breath then. The tension seems to settle finally, as his shaking subsides and his breathing returns to a normal, steadier pace. Alec stays with him through it, not uttering a word until Magnus has finished his water.

“C’mon,” Alec calls softly, placing the now-empty glass in the sink. He turns back to Magnus and takes his hand in his own. The touch is gentle, radiating warmth and comfort. Alec leads Magnus back to the bed, pulling back the covers for Magnus to slip under. He does, and as Alec tucks him in, Magnus feels the chilling cold of those memories, of that loneliness resurface.

“Alexander?”

“Hm?”

“C-Could you…?” Magnus starts timidly, flushing in embarrassment as he pulls the sheets over his face. It’s childish of him to ask of this, completely inappropriate considering the circumstances. But Magnus is scared—admittedly. He’s terrified to be left alone again with these memories and regrets. It’s always like this, always him fighting alone and waking up in the middle of the night, always having to nurse himself with a cup of tea that never really helps. He’s always alone.

But not now. Now—for once—someone is  _ here _ with him.

So is it too much for him to be a little selfish?

“Magnus?” Alec asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What is it?”

“Stay with me?” Magnus asks before he can convince himself otherwise. He doesn’t meet Alec’s gaze, dropping it to inspect the seams of the sheets instead. “I just…I don’t want to be alone right now.”

There’s a shocked expression that crosses over Alec’s face then. He looks over to the empty space on the floor. “I…I guess I can bring some of the cushions upstairs and lay on them—”

“No,” Magnus says a bit too quickly. His hand darts out from under the covers to catch Alec’s sleeve. He glances back at the empty side of the bed. “There’s plenty of room for two…don’t you think?”

“Magnus, we can’t—”

“It’s just to sleep,” he interjects again. He looks back to Alec then, silently pleading through his eyes. “ _ Please, Alexander. _ ”

Magnus doesn’t like to beg, but at this point he’s desperate. Alec remains stiff for a moment, the wheels in his head turning. With a sigh, he sits up from the bed.

“Okay,” he starts breathlessly. “But just to sleep.”

“Just to sleep,” Magnus affirms.

Despite the affirmation, Alec doesn’t immediately move over to the empty side of the bed. He’s still in his own head, thinking of things Magnus can’t possibly read from Alec’s facial expressions. He seems to move finally, though still stiff as he crawls up to the side of the bed that hugs the wall.

As Alec settles under the covers, Magnus immediately feels warmer. Alec is like a blanket of heat, and the close proximity makes it spread through the sheets. It’s not crowded in the slightest, but as Alec shifts, his legs bump and brush against Magnus’. Alec sighs into the mattress and Magnus watches as those dark lashes press against his cheeks.

“ _ Goodnight, Alexander, _ ” Magnus whispers, barely audible.

Alec’s eyes flutter open once more and he smiles. “ _ Goodnight, Magnus. Sweet dreams. _ ”

The sentiment makes Magnus nearly sob. Oh so suddenly, he wants to reach out, to close the distance between them and just let himself go, feeling everything he’s keeping locked away inside himself. But he doesn’t. Instead he lies in comfortable silence, watching as Alec’s eyes flutter closed. He listens as Alec’s breath eventually evens out, unable to restrain a smile when Alec’s slight snore returns. He shifts under the covers, enveloping himself completely in the warmth of the bed.

Exhaustion tugs at his eyelids once more, and Magnus closes his eyes. As he drifts to sleep, his thoughts are of Alec.

Alec is here.

He isn’t alone.

Not anymore.

X

Magnus wakes up in Alec’s arms, surrounded by the heat of his exposed skin and the pulse of his steady breath. The morning sun casts down from the skylight above, illuminating the curves and edges of their bodies. It’s peaceful, quiet in the ways where there’s hardly any sound except the slight snores from the doctor behind him. It’s warm, a stark contrast from the mornings he has in his own home. He thinks back on those mornings, how he wakes in a bed far too big, how the sheets are cold and give him goosebumps whenever he moves.

It’s different here. The sheets are warm, with heavy duvets and handmade quilts draped across their bodies. The bed is just perfect, a queen size that gives them plenty of space to spread out, yet captures the warmth their bodies emit. Magnus closes his eyes again, breathing in the smell of Alec’s loft. It’s easy to imagine waking up here every day, in the warmth, in the comfort of someone else’s arms, of--

Magnus stills the train of thought, stiffening slightly.  _ No _ , Magnus thinks, _ you can’t do this. Alexander is just being nice, letting you crash here for the night. He doesn’t—you can’t feel this way. _

His thoughts are interrupted when Alec stirs behind him, a gravelly, fractured groan bubbling up his throat as his arms wrap just the slightest bit tighter around Magnus’ frame. Magnus holds his breath as Alec’s nose brushes over the exposed skin of his neck slightly. He bites his lip, both to suppress a shiver and breathless gasp at the action.

As Alec stirs, he pulls away from Magnus just slightly. Magnus turns back, eyes falling on Alec’s face. Alec’s relaxed expression morphs into a furrowed brow and slight frown before his eyelashes are fluttering and his eyes are peeking open. Emerald-hazel eyes lock onto Magnus and Alec can’t help but let the lopsided smile splay across his face.

“Good morning,” Alec greets, voice thickened from sleep.

Magnus tries not to flush. “G-Good morning,” he stammers.

Alec seems to realize their proximity, and with a flush, he draws his hands away. The sheets rustle as he sits up, pulling at the hem of his shirt that seems to have risen up at some point during the night.

“How...um...how did you sleep?”

Magnus looks down to the quilt that still drapes over his frame, picking absentmindedly at the worn seams. “I slept well,” he reports tersely. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

Alec gives a wordless nod before he pulls himself up from the bed. He turns to the railings of the loft, breathing in deeply before expelling it out in a sigh. He turns back to Magnus. “Are you hungry?”

Magnus sits up and shrugs.

“I’ll go downstairs and make some coffee, then,” Alec decides. “If you want to have something to eat, I’ll make it.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Alec interrupts with a slight smile. “You’re my guest after all.”

With a nod, he turns away from Magnus once more, descending the stairs and disappearing into the kitchen space below. Magnus looks back down to his lap then, spreading his hands across the sheets. He knows he shouldn’t expect anything to come from this. The doctor is simply extending an invitation for breakfast after a long and tiring day yesterday. It’s a platonic gesture.

_ It’s a platonic gesture, _ Magnus says to himself once more, trying desperately to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

X

Exactly half an hour later, the loft smells like coffee and French toast.

The floor-to-ceiling windows have been exposed, the shades being pushed away to reveal the beautiful city skyline. There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the sky seems like the richest blue Magnus has seen in a long while. The parks and trees below are decorated in a vast array of oranges and reds and yellows, showcasing the full beauty of fall.

It promises to be a perfect day.

And perfect does it seem, sitting at Alec’s kitchen counter and watching as Alec flips over the French toast in the pan. Though Alec still dons his pajamas, Magnus had taken advantage of Alec’s shower, relishing the waterfall shower head and pine-scented body wash. He had changed into an old t-shirt of Alec’s—one whose front is decorated with the name of his former college—but kept the sweatpants. There’s no gel in his hair, nor any makeup on his face; and though he normally insists on wearing it before seeing anyone, he doesn’t mind being bare-faced in front of Alec.

For the sake of his heart, he decides not to look into the reasoning why.

Magnus takes another sip of his coffee, savoring its slightly sweet taste from the creamer as Alec turns back towards him, placing the plate of French toast in front of him. It looks absolutely sinful, with powdered sugar and syrup covering it. The smell is heavenly and intoxicating, and Magnus finds himself practically drooling in anticipation.

“Eat up,” Alec offers with a smile before turning back to the stovetop to cook his own portion.

Taking full advantage of the offer, Magnus cuts a slice, taking a bite and— _ oh _ ,  _ oh this is sinful. _

“Is it possible to marry food?” Magnus asks incredulously. “This is  _ so good _ !”

Alec chuckles at that. “I’m glad you like it. My mom taught me how to make it when I was younger.”

Magnus looks back down to the plate, swirling his bite in a pool of syrup. “Well please give your mom all my thanks, because this is absolutely sinful and I don’t think I’ll ever have a piece of French toast as amazing as this one.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her then,” Alec smiles. “She loves hearing when people enjoy her recipes.”

The statement piques Magnus’ curiosity. “Does she cook professionally?”

Alec shakes his head, placing a finished piece of French toast onto the plate beside him. “She’s the head of a financial services firm over in St. Louis,” he states. “She grew up in a large family though, and her mother taught her how to cook, and so she tried passing down the knowledge to us.”

“‘ _ Us _ ’ being you and your sister?”

“And my brother,” Alec adds as turns off the stove, turning back to Magnus and placing his plate on the counter.

“You never said you had a brother,” Magnus states, taking another bite.

Alec shrugs. “He doesn’t come up in conversations a lot. He’s usually always busy too, so I don’t get to talk with him as often as I like.”

Magnus looks back down to his plate, poking at another bite. His mind can’t help but drift back to Ragnor, to how he hadn’t talked to him in a long while and now he may not be able to again.

“You should talk to him.”

“Huh?”

Magnus looks back up to Alec, a bit of seriousness in his eyes. “You should talk with your brother,” he repeats. “I know you said he’s busy so you two don’t talk much, but...take it from someone who waited too long to talk to someone, you don’t always get all the time in the world.”

The somber tone that settles between them makes Magnus’ stomach turn sickeningly in his stomach. The warmth has dampened, and that familiar, lonely and depressing cold licks at his spine once more.

“ _ Magnus _ ,” Alec calls softly, extending his hand out to cover Magnus’. “Magnus, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he refuses, dropping his fork and resting his head in the hand Alec doesn’t hold. “You think you have all the time in the world until you don’t, until they’re in the hospital and you get the call and you just think ‘maybe if I wasn’t so prideful, if I had just talked to them, maybe—'”

“Magnus,” Alec calls again, a bit more sternly. “Magnus, you’re crying.”

Only after Alec says that does Magnus notice the fogginess of his vision. The tears well in his eyes and he sniffles harshly, wiping his eyes with his palm. “S-Sorry,” he cries. “I’m so sorry.”

Alec doesn’t say anything else, instead abandoning his food and walking around the counter towards Magnus. He pulls Magnus closer, hugging him and Magnus can’t help but let a few stray tears out. His breath shudders and Alec only comforts him with a gentle caress across the planes of his back.

_ So much for it being a perfect morning _ , Magnus thinks.

When his breathing levels out, he pulls away, keeping his eyes stationed on his lap. It’s quiet between them for a long moment in time as Alec waits silently for Magnus to get his bearings straight. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t be,” Alec consoles gently. “Would it help to talk about it?”

“Not really. I don’t really feel like talking about it.”

There’s another pause, just as long and a tad bit tense. Magnus presses his thumb into the center of his palm. His hands still hurt a bit, and he relishes in the slight ache that shoots up his arm when he presses a little too hard.

Alec must catch his wince because those impossibly soft hands embrace Magnus’, pulling him away from the pain he’s causing himself. He pulls up the chair next to Magnus, sitting in it quietly before his eyes meet Magnus’ once more.

“Tell me something about him,” Alec perks up.

“Alexander, I said I didn’t—”

“I don’t mean something bad. Don’t talk about the regret or the bad feelings. Tell me something  _ good _ . Tell me something about him, something you’re proud of him for, something that you can’t help but smile about when you think about it.” He gives Magnus’ a warm smile. “And don’t say you don’t have anything. You two have been friends for years from what I’ve heard, so surely you have an interesting story or two in that big old brain of yours.”

Magnus places down his utensils with a delicate clink. He licks his lips, savoring the honey sweetness of the syrup from the French toast. He searches his plate for answers, finding nothing.

“He has tenure.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ragnor has tenure,” Magnus tries again. “It was…one of his biggest accomplishments. He’d been teaching at the university for a few years, published a couple of books.” His lips quirk up in a small smile. “He was so happy. So proud. You should’ve seen his face the second he had heard. I’ve never seen him so happy.”

Alec smiles softly at that, hand draping over the back of Magnus’ chair. “You must be proud of him.”

Magnus nods. “He’s the best professor the English program has,” he admits with a smile. “I couldn’t be prouder of him.”

“And what about you?” Alec asks then. “Do you have tenure?”

Magnus stiffens slightly, but it’s enough for Alec to notice, as he’s straightening up and his brows furrow. He’s about to open his mouth, but Magnus beats him to it.

“No,” Magnus diffuses quickly. He tries to laugh it off as a joke, even though that familiar chill of fear and guilt prod at his chest again. “No. They…They wouldn’t give tenure to someone like me.”

Alec’s lips turn down into a frown. “Why not?”

Magnus tenses again under the question, his eyes widening slightly. He blinks the fear away instantly, trying to still his quickening heartbeat as he looks away from Alec. “I’m hardly the impressive role model they’d give tenure to,” he starts, scratching the underside of his jaw awkwardly. “I’ve only been with the university a couple of years, whereas Ragnor has been with then for over ten. I’m a lot to get used to I guess, so they’ve stuck me with the night classes and the undergraduate general labs.”

Alec shifts, leaning back into his chair with a thoughtful pout on his face. His scratches at the stubble at his chin before speaking again. “It seems like a waste of your talents, if I’m being honest,” he confesses. “You’ve worked hard for your doctorate. And while I understand you haven’t been teaching there for as long as Ragnor has, that doesn’t mean you are any less entitled to having tenure.” He looks back to Magnus. “They should respect that to some degree.”

_ Oh, what little you know, _ Magnus thinks as his gaze falls down to his hands. He picks gently at the chipped edge of his polish. “I’m fine with it,” he replies quietly. “You have to start somewhere before they’ll give you tenure. Besides, the night classes and once-a-week labs give me the time to visit Ragnor.” He shrugs. “I don’t need to be the best to be happy.”

There’s a small endearing smile that comes from Alec then, accompanied with a gentle hum. “And are you happy?”

It takes far longer for Magnus to respond that it should. “I am.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

Magnus’ shoulders sag. “I’m happier than before,” he admits. “Before…every day was a challenge. Coming to the hospital hurt me more than anything. How could I have been happy when the friend I’d abandoned is lying unconscious in an ICU?” He sighs. “There are days where it’s still like that. Where it’s hard. But there are good days, more so than before.”

He looks up from his hands then, eyes tracing over the features of Alec’s face, of his five o’clock shadow and stubble, of his golden-emerald eyes, of the barely-there scar on his left eyebrow.

“I think it’s because of you,” Magnus admits in a whisper. “You’ve unlocked something in me.”

There’s a slight flush in the doctor’s cheeks at the remark. “I’ve done nothing,” he diffuses.

“That isn’t true. You showed me hope while visiting those kids. You’ve shown me kindness, given me the time of day when every other doctor probably wouldn’t. You’ve made me smile and laugh on the days where I wanted nothing more than to cry my eyes out.” Magnus reaches out, closing the distance between their hands as Magnus’ fingers brush over Alec’s.

“I’m happier because of you, Alexander. You make me happy.”

The flush on Alec’s cheeks grows a tad pinker at the statement. “You make me happy too, Magnus,” he replies, eyes trained on their shared hands.

And in that moment, the warmth comes back. The sun casts against Magnus’ skin. The smell of French toast and coffee lingers in the air. Alec’s fingertips curl around Magnus’ in a faint movement.

In that moment, something shifts in Magnus’ chest. His heart tumbles and his skin tingles. It spreads through his body, filling his lungs like a breath he can finally breathe.

With Alec, he is happy. That much is true.

So he holds onto Alec’s hand just a tad tighter, unwilling to let his happiness go.

X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me over on twitter @the_biconic_mb


	3. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ "He cares about you, Magnus. More than you'll ever know."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> livetweet using the tag #ntsbfic

X

October comes and goes in an instant.

In an instant, November is here and the prime of fall has taken over the city. The days are cold and crisp while the nights are even more so. In that time, Magnus finds himself in Alec’s company more often than before. In that time, he also learns more about Alec and his family.

He learns more about Alec’s brother first. His name is Jace and is maybe a year or two younger than Alec is. He’s often hot-headed and an adrenaline junkie, and as such has made his career driving a racecar at ridiculously high speeds. He also learns that Jace is also dating Simon, and that the whole hospital had a betting pool on how long it took for them to get together. According to Alec, Lydia won with a bet of 2 months.

Alec talks about Jace with a smile on his face. It’s bright and sunny, and Magnus can just  _ hear _ the joy in his voice with each story.

Isabelle—on the other hand—is quite a different story.

Magnus learns more about Isabelle on a dreary, rainy evening. It’s on that evening when a patient comes in nearly half-dead from an overdose that Alec finds himself in Ragnor’s room with Magnus. There’s a distance in the doctor’s eyes, and his thoughts aren’t quite there as he shifts uncomfortably in the seat near the window.

“Alexander—”

“My sister is in rehab,” Alec cuts off suddenly, fingers flexing against the armrest a couple of times. Magnus can see his knuckles turn white. “It’s her third time there this year.”

Magnus closes his mouth and swallows, trying to qualm the sick feeling in his stomach. “Is she…Is it drugs?” he asks on a whisper. “Like that girl they brought in a couple hours ago?”

Alec gives a hesitant nod. “Izzy...she got addicted to oxy a year and a half ago,” he reports. “She did amazing work, revolutionized her industry. Almost two years ago she had an accident at work and she received pain meds to help.” Alec shakes his head. “Her boss—Aldertree—helped her transition back into working once she had gotten better. We—We didn’t know about it, but he had started giving her pills. He knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing to her and she—”

His voice cracks painfully, and Magnus’ heart throbs in his chest.

“She didn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t until Jace brought her into the E.R. totally limp in his arms that we knew.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything for a long while, unsure of what to say. He runs his hand up his arm fisting at his sleeve where it creases in the elbow.

“Addiction…Addiction isn’t easy. The behaviors become habitual, and habits are hard to break.” Magnus takes another breath. “I know it may seem hopeless, especially when she relapses. But it’s helping. I promise you.”

Alec looks up, and finally their eyes meet across the room. There’s a silent question there, flickering across the golden green, but he doesn’t voice it. Magnus appreciates it all the same.

“Thank you,” Alec replies finally. He looks back down to his hands. “We’re going to see her in a couple of weeks for Thanksgiving. The rehab center said it’d be good for her.”

Magnus nods again. “It’s always good to have someone there for you, especially when you’re vulnerable.” He looks to Ragnor then, taking Ragnor’s hand in his own. “Trust me.”

There’s a small smile from the doctor at that. “Do you have any Thanksgiving plans?”

Magnus shrugs. “A few. Catarina wants the three of us—her, Raph, and I—to spend Thanksgiving at her place. We’ll probably stuff our faces, watch bad movies…” The thought brings a smile to his face. “It’ll be good to spend time with them again.”

And it was. Thanksgiving comes quickly, and Magnus spends the days off at Catarina’s. They spend the holiday cooking different dishes, from soups to casseroles to desserts.

For them, Thanksgiving was never about the turkey. In fact, Ragnor hated turkey, so they never had it. Instead they’d make their favorite dishes, the ones they’d grown up with and loved. Raphael would make tamales, Catarina would make chocolate cream pie, and Magnus would make his mother’s homemade  _ soto kaki _ , the one good memory of his childhood. In between cooking there’d be marathons of movies with a plethora of tears and laughs to be shed. It’d end in a night of celebration, with bubbly cider and stories of the past few years.

Needless to say, they kept the tradition. Though Ragnor wasn’t there to celebrate with them this year, they still celebrated. They took moments to honor their friend, to pray, to hope for next year that he’d be able to sit and eat with them.

It was a long shot, considering the circumstances. They all knew it.

But still, they all hoped.

X

The December chill invades in the blink of an eye and suddenly there’s snow covering the ground. Every breath that Magnus takes is followed by a gentle plume of white. His nose is red whenever he goes outside and he can’t wear his ear cuff unless he wants red ears too.

Classes continue smoothly, and as the Christmas holiday draws closer, he feels the pressures of grading growing heavier. He spends too many nights in Ragnor’s room, going through tests and lab reports until he can’t bear to look at another chemical equation. He’s seen enough titration calculations to make his head spin.

“Tired?”

Magnus’ head shoots up towards the door at the voice. “Cat,” Magnus says a bit incredulously, turning fully bodied to see her. “What are you doing here?”

“I just finished my rounds for the evening,” she says, stepping fully into Ragnor’s room. “I was just going to pop in and spend some time with him, but if you’re busy—”

“Oh, no,” Magnus dissuades, shuffling his papers around and pushing them into his bag. “I’ve been here for a while anyways. I’ll give you two some time.” Catarina opens her mouth to retort, but Magnus stops her. “Please. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”

Catarina gives him a warm smile with an accompanied hug as he pulls himself up from the chair. “Thank you, Magnus.” As Magnus pulls away, she speaks again. “How are you?”

Though the question appears simple, it’s not.  _ How are you doing? Are you getting rest? Are the nightmares gone? Do you need me? _

“I’m okay,” Magnus says honestly, looking back at Ragnor’s pliant form. “He’s been doing good lately. We’ve been watching a lot of  _ Family Matters _ together and I talked to him about Thanksgiving.” He lets a small smile go. “Alexander keeps me updated too, letting me know if anything’s changed.”

When he meets Catarina’s gaze, there’s a bit of mirth in her eyes with the accompanied smile on her face.

Magnus’ brows furrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says softly, stepping closer to brush a stray hair out from Magnus’ face. “You just had a stray hair.”

He can see through her lie in an instant. “Cat, whatever it is, just say it. I can take it.”

Catarina pulls her hand back as she looks across his face. “In all the years I’ve known you, whenever you are hurt, you push those around you away. Even with Raph and I, you refuse to let us in. And don’t even think of arguing with me, because you know I’m right,” she adds quickly before Magnus can respond. She looks over to Ragnor and takes a breath. “When things get hard, you take it upon yourself to deal with those problems alone. But with Ragnor…you haven’t done that. When you have a bad day, when its impossible for you to walk into his room, you go to Alec. Even on the good days, you go to him.” Her eyes lock back onto Magnus. “You care for him, don’t you?”

Magnus’ eyes widen at the words, and he looks away at her question, picking at the edges of his jacket sleeves. “Of course I do,” he starts carefully. “Alexander is my friend.”

There’s a pause before Catarina speaks again. “He’s talked to me you know, about you,” she starts. There’s a hint of warmth in her voice at the words. “He asks how you’re doing, if—after the nights you spend together—you’re alright.” She finds Magnus’ hand and squeezes it gently. “He doesn’t talk about the nights you spend together, but I know they happen. I know you and I know Alec. Believe me when I say I haven’t seen him react to a personal call like he reacts to yours.”

Magnus tugs at the sleeve, shifting under Catarina’s incessant gaze. He can recall each and every one of those nights, the nights where he’s lonely and miserable in his home, where he calls Alec because he’s just a call away. He can recall all the times Alec has been there in an instant, bringing hot soup or hot chocolate to calm him down. He remembers all the mornings, waking up surrounded in Alec’s warmth, in the gentle reminder that he isn’t alone.

It makes his chest ache as the feelings simmering below the surface threaten to rise up once more.

“He’s just being a good friend, Catarina,” Magnus insists instead. “That’s all.”

Catarina seems to let it go after that, no longer insisting for Magnus to acknowledge the feelings he quite obviously has. “Alright. Text me when you get home?” she asks softly, her warm hands pressing gently against his jawline.

Magnus smiles back at her and nods. “I will.” His eyes pull back to Ragnor. “Take care of him, alright?”

“I will,” she repeats. It’s then they share another hug. He breathes in her comforting scent, feels her lungs expand against him. He grounds himself in knowing that Ragnor will be in her good hands.

They part soon after, and Magnus turns to collect his things from the chair. He turns to Ragnor, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to the space above his eyebrow and whispering his goodbyes for the night. With one last smile, he draws the curtain back to leave.

But before he can step out, Catarina’s voice rings out once more.

“Magnus?”

“Hm?”

“It’s true that Alec is a caring person and is a good doctor. But he doesn’t care for every patient or their families like he cares for you.” She looks up, brown eyes meeting brown. “He cares about you, Magnus, more than you’ll ever know.”

X

Catarina’s words still hang heavy on his mind as he makes his way down to the lobby.

Alec cares for him. He knows that already. But it’s all been because they’re friends, right? They  _ are _ friends, aren’t they?

“Hey, Magnus!”

Magnus stops just short of the automatic doors of the hospital’s main lobby, his train of thought derailing as that familiar voice rings in his ears. He turns in time to see the young doctor himself rushing up to catch Magnus. Alec has changed out from his dark scrubs, donning a simple pair of dark wash jeans, khaki loafer boat shoes, and a thick, marbled grey sweater. His cheeks are just a tad flushed as he steps closer. When he catches up to Magnus, Alec presses his fingers against the bend of Magnus’ elbow. The touch is light, a gentle caress that’s gone in a second, yet it sends a pleasant shiver up his spine. Magnus meets Alec’s smile with his own, turning to fully face him.

“Alexander,” Magnus greets warmly, “All done for the day?”

“Yeah, I just finished my rounds, so I’m officially off the clock.” His eyes glance down to the bag strung across Magnus’ torso. “Are you leaving now?” he asks, looking down to his watch with a furrowed brow. “There’s still a couple more hours until visiting hours are over.”

Magnus nods. “Catarina is taking her break to visit him,” he says with a slight shrug. “They deserve some time alone.”

Alec hums and nods a couple of times, not bothering to inquire further. “Have you eaten?”

“Huh?”

Alec blinks before biting his lip, eyes travelling across Magnus’ face before he looks down and swallows thickly. “I didn’t have a chance to take an official lunch break today, so I was thinking of stopping somewhere to eat,” he explains, raising a hand to scratch at the short strands on the nape of his neck. “Would you…uh…would you like to join me?”

Magnus opens his mouth to retort, but he stops as his stomach rumbles slightly. It isn’t loud enough for Alec to hear, but he still can’t help but flush in embarrassment.

“What did you have in mind?”

X

Magnus hasn’t been to an Olive Garden in years.

He’s always loved Italy; it’s food, it’s thematics, everything. Olive Garden is hardly Italy though, no matter how many paintings or grape vines they add to the interior.

Yet, as he slides into a dimly lit booth across from Alec, he can’t find himself to hate the place.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve been craving pasta  _ all day _ ,” Alec chuckles cheerfully, plucking the specials menu from the side of the table. He flips through the options, all the while talking about some story that Magnus loses track of halfway through. It’s not Magnus’ fault really, but he has to admit that seeing Alec this way is a bit distracting.

_ He’s remarkably different like this _ —Magnus thinks. Without the doctor’s coat on, Magnus can see how toned Alec is. His sweater is still loose, but as he leans across the table and flips through the choices, Magnus can see the material curve against the muscle hidden underneath.

Alec’s hair is also a bit unkempt, no doubt from the stress of running around the hospital all day. There are a few strands that droop down across his forehead, bouncing slightly as he talks. His eyes are bright, shining brilliantly with the smile pulling across those pale pink lips. His stubble is also fairly well-kept, trimmed but enough to accentuate his strong jawline; though there’s a patch right under his jaw where the stubble is slightly denser than—

“Hi, welcome to Olive Garden! My name is Elle and I’ll be your server tonight,” the waitress greets, jarring Magnus from his train of thought. Magnus jumps slightly at the sudden intrusion, eyes immediately darting away when Alec glances up and just happens to meet his eyes. With a slight flush to his cheeks, he looks to the waitress, hoping she hadn’t noticed his less-than-subtle staring at the man across from him.

She takes out a couple of full menus, placing them in front of the two men. From her movements, it doesn’t seem like she picked up on Magnus’ obvious staring. That—or she doesn’t care to comment. Instead, she flips open her notepad to take down their orders. “Let me start you guys off with some drinks,” she offers. “We have a wonderful Merlot on special tonight and we have a free sample of our newest Chardonnay as well if either of you would like to try those.”

Magnus immediately tenses at the offer. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat as he balls a fist, fingers pressing small crescents into his palm underneath the table.

Oh yes,  _ now _ he remembers why he doesn’t come to Olive Garden anymore.

“N-No thank you,” Magnus stammers stiffly, voice wavering just a bit. “I’ll just take water.”

Elle nods, jotting down his order before turning towards Alec. “And for you sir?”

Alec glances up with a smile, effortless and hospitable as usual. “I’ll take a water as well.”

“Alright, no problem,” Elle replies with a smile. She takes the menus under her arm and hands them to the both of them. “Here are your menus, and I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

Just as swiftly as she appeared, Elle leaves them to peruse the menu. Magnus pulls his gaze back to the table, only to meet Alec’s concerned gaze.

“W-What?”

Alec frowns slightly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Magnus lies. “Why do you ask?”

Alec leans across the table, fabric pulling taut against the muscles in his arm once more. His fingers—those calloused, precise hands—brush against the back of Magnus’ hand, winding around until he holds Magnus’ hand in his own.

“ _ Magnus _ ,” he calls softly, “You’re shaking.”

_ Oh _ .

Magnus pulls his hand out of Alec’s, the heat of Alec’s touch slipping away. Magnus suppresses another shiver as he pulls away, tearing his gaze away from the doctor’s.

“Don’t worry about it,” Magnus diffuses. “I’m fine.”

“It’s the alcohol, isn’t it?” Alec counters, tone serious.  _ Damn it. Why can’t he just leave it alone? _

“Alexander—”

“It’s just that you seemed quite relaxed until she mentioned the wine options, and—”

“ _ Stop, _ ” Magnus whispers out.

“And while, yes, maybe she caught you off guard, you seemed scared. It’s like those nights, when you wake up from the nightmares you don’t want to talk about. Your eyes had the same look as they did then. Did something happen in the past where—”

“Alec,  _ STOP!! _ ”

His hands slam against the table harshly, rattling the few contents that rest on the table. Some of the other patrons at the other tables turn their heads and quiet their conversations as they look to the source of the noise. Magnus’ hands shake again under the weight of the emotions he tries to reign in. His shoulders slump as he sighs, his head hanging heavy.

“It’s a sensitive subject,” Magnus admits quietly. “Now isn’t the time or place to talk about it. So please, just leave it be.”

A sorrowful look crosses Alec’s face then, casting his eyes down. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Sometimes the doctor in me doesn’t know when to shut off.”

The tension in Magnus’ body leaves as he calms down. “It’s fine,” Magnus assures. “Believe it or not, I’ve had worse dates.”

The statement earns a series of sputters from Alec, his menu clattering against the table as it slips from his hands. He tries to catch it before it falls, but to no avail. He looks up from the menu to meet Magnus’ gaze, hazel eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “D-Dates?” he stammers. “Is…Is this a date?”

Magnus blinks once.

Twice.

_ Oh. _

_ I guess if I put it that way… _

“Do you want this to be a date?” Magnus counters, putting the ball in Alec’s court. He thinks of Catarina’s words, how she had mentioned how Alec treats him differently than he does others. And suddenly, Magnus feels vulnerable, like his chest has been cracked open and all of the emotions he’s been keeping locked away are slowly starting to seep out. If he’s honest with himself, Magnus wants this to be a date. While Alec is attractive, it’s not the only quality Magnus likes about him. He admires Alec’s humbleness and understanding, his laugh and his humor. There’s just something about Alec that Magnus is drawn to.

Alec swallows thickly, eyes darting down to his hands—which he suddenly finds interesting. “W-Well, I—”

“Alright, I’ve got those two waters,” Elle interrupts, oblivious to the conversation she intruded on. Magnus and Alec both flush, thanking her for the waters. “Have you decided on what you want to eat?”

Magnus eases the tension in his shoulders a bit as he orders his food. He watches in silence as Alec orders with ease, smile never faltering on his face. As soon as Elle is gone, however, the tension returns.  _ Is this a date? Does Alec even want it to be? _

“I want this to be,” Alec says as if reading Magnus’ mind. He looks up from his glass of water, meeting Magnus’ gaze once more. “I haven’t dated in years,” he confesses after a pause. “Though there are those who say how ‘hot’ it is to date a doctor, they don’t think the odd hours we work are.”

Magnus hums, taking a sip of his water. “I assure you, I have no problem with odd hours. I had my fair share of fragmented sleep schedules when I was getting my doctorate.” He leans forward, taking a leap of faith as he abandons his glass of water to brush his fingertips gently against Alec’s. “I want this to be one too, Alexander.”

Alec looks down to their hands, dark lashes fluttering against his slightly flushed cheeks. He brushes back against Magnus’ fingers, skimming the skin of Magnus’ palm as Magnus turns his hand over.

“It won’t be easy,” Alec says. “People may not like the idea of a doctor dating their patient’s family member.”

Magnus gives a shrug. “I’m only a close friend, not technically family,” he diffuses. “Besides,” he leads, intertwining his fingers with Alec’s and squeezes lightly. “I love a challenge.”

That heart-stuttering half smile pulls across Alec’s face at the words. Silently he pulls their joined hands forward and presses a kiss to Magnus’ fingers. He chuckles when Magnus blushes visibly.

Things seem to relax after that. Elle brings their food out and they fall into casual conversation. Magnus hears the stories of Alec’s residency and fellowship year. He can’t help but laugh when Alec recalls how they had to do practice procedures on dummies, and how the doctor in charge made it absolute hell for them.

“…and Lydia  _ cried, _ ” he emphasizes. “In all the years I’ve known her, Lydia has never cried. I was just as shocked as all the other interns-turned-residents.” He shakes his head. “She’s chief of surgery now; practically keeps our hospital afloat.”

“She’s doing a good job then,” Magnus quips. “Surely I couldn’t do it.”

As they talk, time seems to fly by. Magnus enjoys the rest of his pasta, and he and Alec indulge themselves a bit with dessert. While nursing another glass of water, Alec waves Elle over, asking for the check. Alec ends up paying for their meal, much to Magnus’ opposition.

The night should have ended there—Magnus supposes. He was just promised dinner, nothing more. However, as they dip back out into the crisp wintry air, Magnus finds themselves wandering in the nearby park, strolling along whilst talking about everything and nothing. They don’t hold hands or anything, but every now and again Alec’s fingers just barely brush against Magnus’, and the urge to hold Alec’s hands just grows stronger.

It’s not only to hold Alec’s hand though, he finds. They stop near the lake in the center of the park, sitting down on a bench that sends a chill up his spine, and watch as the moon casts its gentle glow onto the surface of the water. It’s quiet and peaceful, and for a moment, it feels like time has stopped. With a slight pleasant sigh, he turns his gaze to Alec, only to meet the young doctor’s eyes. They hold each other’s gazes for a moment before Magnus’ eyes drop to Alec’s lips. His lips are a pale pink with a slightly fuller lower lip, accompanied by dark, coarse stubble which provides a wonderful contrast to the soft, tender skin.

Magnus can’t help but let his gaze linger. A familiar hunger pulls at his gut when Alec’s tongue peeks out to trace the surface of his bottom lip.

His eyes snap back up to see Alec smiling back at him, eyes mirthful and warm. He moves a hand up to caress the crook of Magnus’ neck and  _ oh— _ Magnus’ heart stutters in his chest.

_ He’s going to kiss me, _ Magnus thinks.  _ He’s going to— _

Alec leans forward before Magnus can finish the thought, tilting his head just so, and—much to Magnus’ slight disappointment—places a gentle kiss to his cheek. Though the kiss on his cheek isn’t what he was expecting, he can still feel the heat and the weight of Alec’s lips on his cheek. It takes his breath away regardless.

“Thank you,” Alec begins as he pulls away just enough to analyze the features of Magnus’ face.

“For what?” Magnus asks.

“For this. For agreeing to come to dinner with me,” Alec specifies. Vulnerability flashes in his eyes then, and Magnus shivers as Alec pulls away, the heat of his touch dissipating into the air. “I…uh, I know we talked a bit about dating, about  _ us _ dating, but—” He cuts himself off, running his fingers through the strands of hair at his nape. He expels a heavy sigh.

“Alexander?” Magnus calls carefully, uncertainty prickling against him. Does Alec not want him? It wouldn’t be the first time someone has turned him away, deemed him too much or—

“I like you, Magnus,” Alec confesses. “I like you a lot. You make my day that much brighter, and I always find myself looking forward to seeing you when you visit at the hospital. I like hearing your stories, hearing you talk about your passions and your interests. You…you are unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Magnus, and I…every day I wonder how I got to meet someone as amazing as you.” Alec looks back at Magnus. “You told me you loved a challenge, and if that’s true, I wanted to ask you.” Licking his lips, he shifts, angling himself towards Magnus. “Will you go out with me, Magnus? Will you…will you be my boyfriend?”

A soft smile spreads across Magnus’ face at the words. “Alexander,” he coos gently, reaching back out to take Alec’s hands in his own. “ _ Of course, _ I’ll be your boyfriend.”

The smile that pulls across Alec’s face is bright as the sun, a warmth that is a stark contrast to the cool evening air around them. He pulls Magnus’ hands up, pressing kisses to his knuckles and brushing his nose against a couple of the rings on his fingers. It’s an incredibly intimate gesture, and Magnus flushes at the action.

Before he can really process it, Alec stands from the bench, turning to him and pulling on their still-joined hands.

“What do you say we walk around a bit more?” he asks in a whisper. “Forgive me, but I don’t want the night to end just yet.”

Magnus’ chest flutters at the words. Unable to speak, he just nods minutely, biting his lip with a flush to his cheeks. Really, Alec Lightwood is a perfect storm, and Magnus can’t help but be swept away.

The next hour is spent in the park, walking around and sharing stories much like they had before. But unlike before, they walk hand-in-hand, and Alec may or may not stop every few yards to press kisses to Magnus’ cheeks. It makes Magnus laugh—really laugh—and he returns the kisses against Alec’s rosy cheeks, his stubbly jawline, his nose red from the cold.

Simply, it’s bliss.

But soon the evening is drawing to a close. It’s nearing eleven when they finally leave the park, and Magnus can feel the weight of the day tugging at his bones, begging for sleep.

His toes and fingers might also be frozen, but that’s a problem for later.

“Thank you for taking me out tonight,” Magnus says appreciatively as they walk down the sidewalk towards Magnus’ home. “It was nice.”

Alec smiles to himself, nuzzling his face into his scarf. “Yeah, it was.”

Endearment laces the simple statement, and soon, Alec’s extending a hand back out to tug at Magnus’ coat sleeve. He draws out his hand from where he had been warming it in his pocket, letting Alec’s fingers—cold from the night—brush lightly against his. Despite the chill of his fingers, it sends a pleasant warmth thrumming through Magnus’ body. All too soon, however, they reach Magnus’ townhome. Alec leads him up the stairs to the front door, and Magnus just wants time to freeze. Even now, in the late night, he doesn’t want their time together to end just yet.

“We should do it again sometime,” Magnus says, turning to look up to Alec. His eyes trace across the ridges and contours of the young doctor’s face, across his cheekbones, down his jawline, up to those pale pink lips—

“I’d love that,” Alec replies, a small half-smile pulling across his face. His eyes glow with warmth and affection and  _ oh, _ Magnus may just want to kiss him.

Before he can, however, Alec steps away, putting an offending amount of space between them. “I better let you get some rest,” Alec states once more, the fingers pressed against his elbow falling. “You said you have a class to teach tomorrow, right?”

Magnus opens his mouth to retort but finds the words don’t come. He nods instead.

Then Alec is stepping away, down the stairs muttering goodbye’s and  _ see you later’ _ s, and the distance is growing larger between them and—

“Alexander!”

Alec turns, barely having enough time to register before Magnus is rushing up to him, closing the distance that had just separated them. Magnus doesn’t let himself second guess his actions as he pulls Alec forward, grabbing the edges of his jacket slightly and pulling him up until their lips meet.

The kiss is chaste but oh-so warm, and he can feel Alec sigh just enough in the kiss. Alec’s hands lift from where they had been static at his side, coming up to cradle the crook of Magnus’ neck. He pulls back just a fraction, only to languidly brush his lips against Magnus’ once more. Magnus’ toes may or may not curl at the action.

All too soon, they part and Magnus opens his eyes to see Alec’s lashes fluttering open, hazel eyes just the faintest shade darker. He exhales, the tip of his tongue tracing his bottom lip as if to savor the last of the kiss. That half-smile returns soon after, teeth shining against his lips.

“ _ Wow _ ,” Alec breathes out. “You sure do know how to make a first date memorable.”

Magnus lets out a huff of laughter. “Just wait until the second date. Then I’ll really knock your socks off.”

Alec hums, nose brushing against Magnus’. “I’m looking forward to it.”

They share another kiss, one deeper and a little less chaste than before. Magnus gasps when Alec bites down on his lower lip, smoothing it over with his tongue before pulling away.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

Magnus lets out a breathless  _ okay _ as Alec steps back, putting distance between them. Alec reaches out to squeezes Magnus’ hand. “Goodnight, Magnus.”

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

Their hands disconnect, and Magnus watches as Alec steps away, turning back towards the road as he walks from Magnus’ home. With the taste of Alec’s kiss on his lips, Magnus lets himself in his townhome. Closing the door, he sighs dreamily.

That night, Magnus gets the best sleep he’s had in years.

X

The days after that feel like Magnus is on cloud nine.

There’s extraordinarily little that can knock him off of his high, not even the stress of finals. During the last full week of class, when the semester is at it’s most chaotic, Magnus juggles grading with visits to the hospital and the occasional date with Alec. Their dates are far and few between, whether it be a small lunch date in the hospital cafeteria or just a night in together as Magnus grades and Alec reads. They spend many nights at Alec’s loft, since it’s significantly closer to both the hospital and university, and Magnus finds himself falling asleep accompanied by the small snores of the doctor on more than one occasion.

His students seem to notice the shift in his mood as well. He’s not nearly as gruff as he normally is around this time, irritated by the cold and the stress of the ending semester. Many are unnerved by his relaxed posture, by his cheery demeanor. Magnus hears their muttered questions, asking  _ what the hell is up with Dr. Bane _ , and he can’t help but smile down at his notes as he writes on the board.

All too soon, his last lecture of the year wraps up. He hands out an extra credit quiz that takes all of five minutes before the clock marks the end of their time. By the end of it, he wishes his students the best on studying for their exams. When the last student leaves, Magnus powers down the projector and wipes away the board, taking the extra credit quizzes back to his office.

Magnus will admit that he hasn’t been in his office much since the beginning of the semester. It’s been easier just to take his work with him to the hospital, to grade papers and worksheets and reports in his lap as he sits with Ragnor. Ever since his three weeks leave back in September, he’s hardly been here.

It’s an odd feeling—Magnus thinks as he flicks on the lights to the office. Though he spends maybe an hour a week here since it’s required for faculty to have some form of office hours, it hardly feels like a home. He hasn’t kept it in the pristine condition he usually does. There’s a thin film of dust across the bookshelves, the plants in the windowsill are wilting and begging for some form of nutrients. There’s a long list of things to do scribbled across the notepad on his desk, things he meant to do over the semester but never really did.

The whole room looks as though its been forgotten, and Magnus knows that its true. Nevertheless, he places the papers on his desk and sits down his chair which is infinitely more comfortable than the one’s he’s been sitting in at the hospital. He reaches into his desk drawer, pulling out his glasses and starting to grade. He loses himself in answering last-minute emails, grading papers, and typing up his final exam.

Just as he starts on grading the extra credit quizzes, there’s a series of small knocks at his opened door.

“Knock knock.”

Magnus looks up to see Alec standing in the doorway of his office, looking deliciously put together in a forest green button up with dark trousers. His stubble has grown out a bit more, and it makes him all the more striking. Magnus can’t help but smile, the tension in his shoulders lifting slightly.

“Alexander,” he greets warmly, rising from his chair and abandoning the worksheet he had been grading. “What are you doing here?”

Alec steps in, unveiling the take-out box he had hidden behind him. “I thought you might be hungry, since you left in a bit of a rush this morning.” He holds it up briefly. “It’s from Taki’s. Your favorite.”

Magnus gives a pleasant sigh, hand pressed against his chest. “My hero.”

Alec smiles as he places the box on the desk. His eyes catch Magnus’, a bit of mirth dancing across the hazel. “I like this look,” he starts teasingly, stepping closer to Magnus to wrap his arms around his waist. “Glasses are quite becoming on you, Dr. Bane.”

There’s a dip in Alec’s tone of voice at the use of Magnus’ title, and Magnus has to bite his lip to hold back a groan.

“Oh, are they?” he replies coyly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Alec’s eyes pass over the planes of Magnus’ face, and Magnus feels on top of the whole world with Alec here, stopping by to deliver lunch in a way that is far too domestic than what he’s used to. Alec’s hands lift from his waist to frame the sides of his face, and he sighs, hazel eyes going soft.

“ _ You’re absolutely beautiful _ ,” he whispers. Before Magnus can retort, Alec leans forward, closing the distance between them with a warm kiss that Magnus can’t help but smile into. He sighs happily into it, bringing his hands up to thread through the longer strands at Alec’s nape. The kiss turns just a hint deeper as Alec runs the tip of his tongue across Magnus’ bottom lip and—

“ _ Oh. _ ”

The voice startles the two of them, and with a harsh pop, Magnus pulls away from Alec, who turns towards the door. Standing in the doorway is Maia, wide-eyed and at a loss for words. She blinks a couple of times before she opens her mouth to speak.

“I…I didn’t mean to intrude. I uh…I can come back,” Maia states, pointing out the doorway.

Magnus opens his mouth to retort, but Alec beats him to it.

“It’s fine,” he assures with another bright smile. “I was about to step out anyways.” He turns back to Magnus, brushing his fingers against Magnus’ as he leans forward to press another chaste kiss to Magnus’ cheek. “Have a good day, love. Enjoy the meal.”

Alec pulls back, turning to Maia with a nod before he slips past her and out the doorway. Maia watches him the entire time as he leaves. Once he’s out of sight, she gives Magnus a bit of an incredulous look.

“It’s…a long story,” Magnus sighs out, straightening his glasses and praying that his blush isn’t too prominent.

Maia only smiles in response. “The whole class was wondering why you’ve been so cheery lately,” she starts. “At first, we wondered if something had happened to Dr. Fell. But the more I watched, I knew it wasn’t about him.”

Magnus hums lowly, picking at his nails as he turns back towards his desk. “Ragn—Dr. Fell still hasn’t woken up,” he reports somberly. “But they’ve taken him off sedatives as of a couple of weeks ago, so we’re hoping that it’s only a matter of time.”

There’s a nod from Maia at that.

“I have hope,” Maia adds. “I’ve taken Dr. Fell’s Advanced Literature course. He’s nothing if not stubborn.” The smile on her face widens. “I’m hopeful that he’ll pull through.”

Her smile proves to be infectious as Magnus finds the corners of his lips twitching upwards. He taps the pads of his fingers against the top of the desk. “Thank you, Maia,” Magnus says softly. “It means a lot to me.” Looking back up to her, seeing that she still hasn’t moved. “Did you need anything else from me?”

Maia shifts the backpack on her shoulder. “Well, I  _ did _ need a bit of elaboration on organometallic compounds, if you don’t mind.”

“But of course,” Magnus nods, taking out his lecture notes from his filing cabinet. “Pull up a seat and let’s get started.”

Maia nods, stepping forward to place her bag down. “Oh, and one last thing.”

Magnus peers up from his glasses curiously. “Yes?”

She sits down in the chair, placing her notes onto the surface of his desk. Her eyes are bright, and her expression is warm and mirthful. “Happiness looks good on you.”

X

Magnus’ least favorite thing about being a teacher is proctoring exams.

At least during the semester, when there are still other classes, emails, and papers to grade, there are things to do. But for the exam at the end of the semester, there’s nothing else to grade, no emails left to answer, no other classes to plan for. His lab has wrapped up completely and he’s already inputted grades for those, and he doesn’t have any other classes to worry about.

So now here he is, sitting in the chair at the desk in the front of the lecture hall bored out of his mind. He’s looked at the clock probably thirty times now, and time seems to pass slower and slower with each glance.

It’s driving him insane.

There’s only so much he can do to quell his boredom that won’t distract his students from their tests. He’s read the ACS paper he printed out twice now, written notes and theories on possible applications and practically torn it to shreds. He thought about texting Alec, but he knows Alec is working, and knows that he wouldn’t be setting a good example to his students if he texts in the middle of their final exam. It’s precisely the reason he left it in his bag back in his office.

He looks to the clock again.

An hour and a half left.

_ Kill me. _

He has to restrain the urge to hit his head against the desk multiple times. Time passes far too slowly, and Magnus is growing more and more impatient by the second. The next round of papers shuffle, signaling students maneuvering through his exam. He closes his eyes for a moment, listening to the ticks of the clock, the frequent cough or shuffled from the students in front of him. When he opens them again after what feels like hours later, he glances at the clock again.

An hour and 28 minutes.

He scoffs out lightly.

It’s going to be a  _ long _ hour.

X

Magnus ends up caving and pulling up solitaire on the computer for the next hour. It’s just enough to distract him and get him through the rest of the exam time, and before he really knows it the alarm he set on his watch is going off and there are groans resounding from the students around him. There’s a shuffle of papers and zipping of backpacks, idle chatter and muttered thanks as he’s handed exam after exam. Many step out with a lifeless look in their eyes, onto the next exam of the day.

Maia is the last one to hand in her exam, and she holds out the paper for Magnus to take. When they’re eyes meet, she lifts her brow with a kind of incredulously. Magnus snorts.

“That bad?”

“Well—”

“I’m sure you did fine, Maia.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon, won’t we?” she counters back. She nods at the stack of exams. “I’ll tell you what though, you didn’t make it easy on us, Dr. Bane.”

He chuckles at that. “How else will I know if my students learned anything? My exams are difficult for one reason: it shows me who has learned and listened, and it shows me those who haven’t. The ones who fail are the people who aren’t invested in the material. The ones who pass…those are the ones that aspire to greatness.” He glances down, taking a look at the first page of her exam. From the first page alone, he knows that she studied hard and that there’s hardly a point to take off. “And you, Ms. Roberts, are one of the great ones.”

Magnus watches as Maia struggles to bite back a smile, preening under his compliment. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she starts slowly.

“I hope you’ll be taking my second organic course in the spring. I think you’d like the multi-step synthesis we’ll be doing.”

He watches Maia’s eyes widen briefly, a flicker of interest in her eyes. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” She shifts the backpack on her shoulder. “I should be getting to my next exam. Thank you for all your time and effort, Dr. Bane. It definitely didn’t go to waste.” She starts backing towards the door. “I guess I’ll see you next semester then.” With a hand on the door, she adds “Oh, and say hello to that handsome man you were playing kissy face with the other day.” Magnus gapes at her. “What? I’m technically not your student anymore, so technically I can tease you about it.”

Magnus shakes his head, waving her away. “Get out of here. You’ll be late for your exam.”

“I’m out.”

And sure enough, Maia disappears from the doorway with one last wave. Magnus can’t help but smile at that, biting his lip as his gaze flits to the exam paper.  _ The handsome man I was playing kissy face with _ , he recalls to himself. He remembers the kiss in detail, and silently thrives under the way his stomach flutters with butterflies.

God, he really wants to kiss Alec again.

It’s after that thought that the room quiets again. It’s still and there’s no one else here. He sits alone in a room far too large for one, sitting silently amongst the thoughts in his head and the papers on his desk.

He takes a breath then, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds as he glances around the room. There are memories in here that he’ll cherish, achievements that he’ll be proud of. He carries that pride in his chest as he collects his exams and walks back to his office. He won’t be able to grade all of them today, but he’ll at least get a head start.

He gets about a quarter of the way through the stack when his phone pings from where it’s been charging in the corner near his computer. It pops up once, then twice before Magnus breaks his concentration on the current exam he’s grading. The exam is one of the bad ones, where everything is a mess and completely illegible and he’s struggling to even find the mindset this student was in while writing it and—

Another ping.

Magnus takes off his glasses and finally tears his gaze away from the exam, turning towards his phone. There’s a couple of texts from Catarina and Raphael asking to hang out, to celebrate the end of the semester. He smiles, sending a quick reply before he notices another text from Alec sitting in his messages. His brows furrow as he taps the screen.

He reads the text slowly.

_ From: Alexander Darling _

_ Sent: xx:xx _

_ Magnus, there’s some news on Ragnor. Come by the hospital after your exam. _

And suddenly the air grows cold and the hairs on his neck are standing on end. His body goes rigid and he can hardly breathe.  _ There’s news. _ Good or bad, he doesn’t know. There’s nothing indicative in Alec’s text either, which makes the uneasiness in his stomach worsen.

_ Is Ragnor gone? _

The thought is terrifying to him. There’s a possibility that Ragnor is gone, that Magnus wasn’t there. He was  _ here _ playing solitaire for Christ’s sake while Ragnor might very well had laid in that same old room he’s been in for nearly 4 months and  _ died. _ Did he really think that everything was going to be the same, that nothing would change? Did he really forget that Ragnor was still perfectly capable of dying?

Magnus’ hands shake at the thought and his eyes well with tears. He drops the pen, abandons the papers on his desk and rips his phone from his charger. He stuffs his bag with the rest of his personal belongings and fumbles to get his keys.

He’s out the door in seconds.

X

Magnus is on the verge of a full-blown panic attack when he gets to the hospital. He had to resist the urge to speed an ungodly amount over the limit in order to get here, and now that he’s in the hospital, he’s unable to breathe. He tries to meet the receptionist’s eyes when he tells her where he’s going, trying to see if there’s that look of sadness, of mourning. But no, she just smiles up at him with those green doe eyes and wishes him a good day.

He almost wants to believe that his friend may still be alive.

The elevator is far too slow, and by the time he enters the Neurological ICU, his heart is beating a thousand miles a minute. He looks around for Alec, hoping he’s here and—

“Dr. Bane!” A cheery voice greets. Magnus turns and Simon is there, smiling and happy and— _ why is everyone so happy _ ? “It’s good to see you aga—"

“Where is Alexander?” Magnus interrupts, eyes still searching for the young doctor. “ _ Please _ , I need to know. He texted me and—”

“He’s in with Dr. Fell,” Simon says, interrupting Magnus this time. He holds Magnus’ shoulders for a moment. “Do me a favor real quick?  _ Breathe _ .”

Magnus takes a gasping breath, holding it for a minute before he lets it out, shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m just scared.”

“I know,” Simon replies. “But I assure you, everything is okay.” He meets Magnus’ eyes and smiles. “I promise.”

Much like Alec, Simon’s words hold certainty and truth in them. Though it doesn’t make his nerves settle completely, he relaxes knowing Ragnor is still here.

Magnus turns towards the room then, turning into Ragnor’s room. Sure enough, Alec is there, eyes trained on the TV as he flips through the channels. His brows furrow as he frowns at the remote.

“ _ Family Matters _ usually shows on channel 22,” Magnus perks up. Alec turns in surprise, eyes wide at Magnus’ sudden presence. “It’s Ragnor’s favorite show, even if he doesn’t admit it himself.”

Alec presses a couple of buttons and sure enough,  _ Family Matters _ comes across the screen. He keeps the volume off, however, setting the remote on the table before he turns to Magnus.

“Sorry about the text,” Alec apologizes. “But I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out.”

Magnus’ brows furrow at the seriousness in his tone. His eyes trail over to the bed, to Ragnor. His eyes widen.

“He’s…he’s off the ventilator.”

“Yes,” Alec affirms. “He is.”

“B-But why?” Magnus asks, walking over to Ragnor’s bedside. He takes Ragnor’s hand in his own and squeezes it gently. He looks between Ragnor and Alec, confusion splayed across his face. “Alexander, what’s going on? Is Ragnor okay?”

Alec licks his lips nervously before he places down the remote, trading it for the tablet on the counter. He turns back to Magnus, flipping the tablet around for Magnus to see.

He recognizes it immediately. They’re the CT scans they did months ago when Ragnor was first admitted. There’s that familiar, blinding pool of whitish-grey matter that streaks across the left side of Ragnor’s brain. His stomach lurches remembering all the blood that had pooled in his brain when the aneurysm ruptured, leaving Ragnor on the cusp of death within minutes.

“As you may remember, Ragnor suffered an aneurysm which ruptured and caused significant hemorrhaging within the primary motor cortex. We were able to clip the aneurysm and alleviate the pressure in his brain, but it left him severely weakened and we predicted there would be severe paralysis as a result.”

Magnus nods, remembering how he sat in the waiting room outside of surgery for hours, hoping and praying that his friend would make it out alive. He remembers the loneliness, the guilt, the helplessness, all of it.

“He had been taken off sedatives in November, seeing that it had been a couple of months and we had seen substantial healing in that time frame.” He swipes to the left, presenting another scan of the brain. Instead of black and white like the other scan, this particular image of the brain is colorful, with colors ranging from purple to red. He points to the first image which is painted mainly blue and purple. “We started running EEG’s and PET scans after he was taken off of sedatives to monitor his brain activity and whether he could respond to stimuli or not. In most cases, when patients come out of their comas, they can open their eyes or move a finger if prompted. But since we didn’t know how extensive Ragnor’s paralysis was, we stuck to the EEG’s and PET scans.”

He passes to another screen, showing another scan with more of yellow and redder tones. “We took a series of PET scans in two to three-week intervals while the EEG was done twice a week. This PET scan here is our most recent one.” Alec points to the scan that is colored with the most green, yellow, and red. “As of yesterday, the results show significant amounts of activity. We prompted him to think of different things, like people or scenarios to get a collection of scans; and look.” He points to a section that has a significant amount of red. “This section of the brain is registered to hearing, and this section registers to memory recall and stimulation.”

Alec looks up from the screen then, searching across Magnus’ face. Though there’s a bit of vulnerability in his eyes, his voice and posture are hopeful.

“ _ Magnus _ ,” Alec breathes out, “Ragnor can hear you. He’s awake.”

Magnus’ eyes go wide. “He’s…He’s awake?”

“Yes. He can hear you, hear us. Though he may not be able to move right now, we’re hoping that with a bit more treatment and incentive, we can try to get him to open his eyes at the very least.” A troubled expression paints across his face. “However, there is a chance that he won’t be able to open his eyes at all.”

Magnus nods in understanding but doesn’t fully process anything after  _ he can hear you _ .

Ragnor can hear him.

Ragnor is alive.

Magnus feels his lower lip tremble at the thought, turning his gaze back to his friend. He squeezes Ragnor’s hand a bit tighter, and he lets out an unbelievable huff.

_ Ragnor can hear him. _

“For how long?”

Alec looks back to his iPad, brushing across another screen. “The last screening before yesterday was about a week ago. The EEG’s from last week did show small bouts of activity, however those readings weren’t as extensive as yesterdays. We believe that he’s been awake for a couple of days at the least.”

_ A couple days _ , Magnus thinks incredulously. He was here a couple days ago, complaining about putting together his exam, reading some of Ragnor’s favorite books, watching  _ Fresh Prince of Bel-Air _ and crying over the episode with Will and Uncle Phil talking about Will’s dad. Ragnor had been awake then. He had heard all of it.

Magnus’ heart surges, warmth flowing through his body. Relief floods his frame knowing that his friend isn’t dead where he lies. Carefully, he lifts Ragnor’s hand up to press a kiss against his fingers.

“ _ I’ve missed you, old friend. _ ”

There’s no reply, but Magnus doesn’t need it. He knows, even without a response from Ragnor, that the words have reached his ears. Ragnor is  _ here _ . Ragnor is  _ alive. _ Ragnor can  _ hear him. _

In the midst of his thoughts, there’s a shift in his peripheral vision. He catches sight of Alec smiling back at him, warmth and hope in his eyes. Magnus smiles back as his eyes shift back to the data on Alec’s screen. His eyes dart back and forth between the scans and graphs, to the purplish black sections of the PET scans, to the flattened lines of the EEG.

“And those?” Magnus perks up, nodding back to Alec’s screen. “What does that mean?”

Alec takes back the screen and looks down at the data. “You’ve seen the CT we ran when Ragnor was first admitted here, seen the extensiveness of the bleed.”

Magnus nods.

“These sections here, the flattened edges of the EEG and the dark spaces of the PET scans are the areas of the brain that have no reactivity.” His eyes lose a bit of their hopeful glimmer, his lips twitching down and brows threading together. “The bleed originated there. So basically—”

“It’s the part of his brain that’s died,” Magnus interjects. “And that’s…that’s where the primary motor cortex is, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So…” Magnus trails, swallowing thickly to gather his thoughts together. “So Ragnor can hear us, but he won’t be able to move, will he?”

Alec takes a breath. “It’s severely damaged. Most likely, motor functions like walking and writing—things that require his legs and arms—he won’t be able to do anymore. I want to hope that he’ll still be able to at least open his eyes, perhaps maybe even talk, given time.” He looks back up to Magnus, gaze glazed over in sadness. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for him.”

“ _ Do more _ ?” Magnus questions incredulously. “Alexander, you saved his life. Ragnor is alive because of you. He can hear me, he can—hell—he might be able to feel me squeeze his hands. You gave him that opportunity. That is something that not many people can do, Alexander. Be proud of that.”

There’s a small turn up of Alec’s lips at Magnus’ words. “I’m supposed to be giving you hope, not the other way around.”

Magnus smiles brightly, unable to contain the happiness that crowds in his chest. “Then stop looking so hopeless,” he jokes. There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Have you told anyone else?”

“You’re Ragnor’s emergency contact. You get told first.”

“You haven’t told Cat yet?”

Alec shakes his head. “No. Not yet. She didn’t have a shift today. Even then, I couldn’t tell her before you. Protocol dictates that.”

Magnus breaks his gaze from Alec, drifting back to Ragnor’s hands. They don’t know he’s awake. They  _ need _ to know he’s awake, that he’s alive.

“D-Do you mind if I—?”

“By all means.”

Magnus fumbles for his phone, pulling it from his pocket. Catarina is on speed dial, and before the third ring, she’s picked up.

“Magnus? Is everything okay? Are you—?”

“Ragnor’s awake, Cat,” he says suddenly, effectively cutting her off. He looks back to the bed, brushing a thumb against the back of Ragnor’s hand. “He can hear us. He, uh, he can’t open his eyes yet, but Alec has all the scans right here and—he’s  _ awake _ , Cat. He’s awake.”

Cat is silent for a moment, but if Magnus listens closely, he can hear her muffled sobs of joy. “M-Magnus that’s—have you told Raph?”

“I was going to call him next.”

“Don’t,” she interrupts. “I’ll call him. I’m on my way. We’ll be there soon.” Her breath shudders again. “Wait for us, okay?”

Magnus smiles into the phone, leaning down to press his forehead against Ragnor’s skin.

_ He’s warm. _

“Okay.”

X

Catarina and Raphael arrive in record time. The ventilator is still off and tucked away, and the TV is playing a bit louder than usual because Magnus  _ knows _ Ragnor can hear it now. They step into the room with barely audible gasps, with light and joy in their faces that Magnus hasn’t seen for nearly a year. He watches as Catarina flocks over to Ragnor’s side, pressing kisses to Ragnor’s cheeks, to his hands, squeezing them in hers and telling him of the stories she’s seen throughout the months he’s been asleep.

Raphael steps up silently to Ragnor, dark eyes scanning him from head to toe. There’s joy, happiness swirling in his eyes. A small smile tips the edges of his lips upward as he lifts a hand to brush away the small tufts of hair hanging down in Ragnor’s eyes. He laces their hands together a moment later.

“I prayed for you,  _ repollo _ ,” he starts softly. Magnus smiles at the nickname. It’s a nickname from a time long ago, from a memory so cherished by all of them.

“We all did,” Catarina joins in. “Even Magnus.”

Magnus can practically hear Ragnor’s scoff of disbelief in his head. “It’s true,” he affirms. “Raph will even swear on it.”

They laugh at the half-hearted glare that Raphael gives him. As it dies down, however, Magnus’ eyes focus on Ragnor, his throat moving up and down just slightly. Magnus’ expression seems to catch the attention of his friends, and soon their letting the silence take over, listening patiently for—

_ There. _

It’s barely audible, but there’s a rumble in the base of Ragnor’s throat. It’s almost like a hum.

A sound.

Magnus nearly cries. It’s not words, but it’s something, something that proves that Ragnor is alive and can hear them and is—in his own way—answering back.

_ Ragnor is here. _

_ Ragnor is alive. _

It’s that thought that plays on loop as they continue to cradle and caress their friend. It echoes through his mind as they watch one of Ragnor’s favorite movies on the TV, as Raphael shares a prayer, as Catarina dotes over him. There’s a smile that never leaves his face, that makes his cheeks ache. Holding onto his friend’s hand, he squeezes it again gently.

_ He’s warm. _

With the warmth comes the sun, streaking through the open blinds of Ragnor’s room. It drapes across the three of them and across Ragnor’s form. It dances across Magnus’ skin and sparkles against his necklaces. It highlights the sharp features of Raphael’s face. It accentuates the soft tones of Catarina’s voice.

It’s warm.

Taking a deep breath, Magnus smiles.

And in that moment, the world is just a little bit brighter.

X

But of course, with the sun, there is always rain.

It’s raining today, rather heavily if Magnus is completely honest. He’s spent the first hour and a half in Ragnor’s room keeping him company, telling him stories of his disastrous lab students from this past semester. By the time he looks at the clock, it’s nearing the evening, and Magnus shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

Alec had texted Magnus early this morning saying he wouldn’t be able to see Magnus as much today because of a planned surgery, but was hoping that he’d be done by the evening so they could get dinner together. But as time ticks on, Magnus checks his phone, only to greet a blank screen each time. He should’ve been out of surgery a few hours ago, but he’s received nothing from Alec about where they would meet for dinner.

Just when Magnus goes to send a text to Alec, does he hear Simon’s voice echo in the ICU.

Magnus is up in an instant, walking out of the room to find Simon. Sure enough, Simon is there in his scrubs, hair unruly and glasses pushed against his face. He laughs at something another intensivist says as Magnus approaches him.

“Susan, where is Alexander?”

Simon gives an unimpressed look at the deliberate error of his name. It softens a second later at the mention of Alec’s name.

“Oh, Magnus, that’s—” he starts sorrowfully. He looks across the hall. “I don’t know exactly  _ where _ he is, but he’s most likely in an on-call room or his office.” He frowns, setting down his clipboard before leaning closer to Magnus, lowering his voice considerably. “It’s been a hard morning. We had another surgery today, but…but they never made it off the table.”

Magnus pulls back, shock evident across his face. “I…I didn’t know, I—”

“Alec always takes it really hard when a patient dies on the table,” Simon explains. “He goes to be alone, and it isn’t until he has to do another surgery or rounds that he turns up.”

“Where is his office?”

Simon signs a couple of papers on the clipboard before putting it away. “It’s on the fourth floor towards the east wing. If you need me to I can—”

“Thank you, Samson, but I’ll be okay,” he assures. “Besides, if I get lost there are plenty of nurses to point the way.” He gives a gentle pat to the front desk with a slight smile before turning out of the ICU. He walks over to the stairwell, going up to the fourth floor and travelling down the halls looking for the doctor’s offices. He’s proud of the fact he only has to ask one nurse to make sure he’s going the right way.

All too soon he’s standing in front of a closed office door, completely devoid of personality besides the plaque that reads  _ Dr. Alexander G. Lightwood – Chief of Neurosurgery _ . Taking a deep breath, he knocks twice.

“Alexander?”

It stays quiet for a long moment, and for a minute, Magnus thinks he should ask around to see if anyone has seen Alec in an on-call room. But something nags at him, and he fastens his hand on the knob, opening the door.

Alec’s office surprisingly isn’t locked. It’s dark, but as he opens the door wider, light spills into the space. From an initial scan, it doesn’t look like Alec is here. Magnus lets out a sigh, pulling back the door to close it and—

The sound of sniffling stops him.

“Alexander?”

Another harsh sniffle. “M-Magnus?”

Magnus opens the door fully then, switching on the lights before closing the door behind him. Alec’s office appears to him in full, with a large desk and a sleek computer with a stack of files neatly sorted in an incoming and outgoing bin. Unlike the door, however, Alec’s office is surprisingly personable. On the desk near the computer are photos of different people. There’s a woman with shoulder-length dark hair who stands with a man who’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Next to them is a singular photo of another woman who looks almost identical to the other, except her hair is longer, curled, and accompanied by a bold red lip. She looks almost like a model. The last one is a picture of a blonde headed man, mid-laugh as he clutches a racing helmet.

_ Family, most likely, _ he guesses.

He turns his gaze to the wall to see another display. The same collection of people appears in a few more photos, but the largest one in the center catches his eye. The picture shows a younger—perhaps early 20s—Alec with a little boy sitting atop his shoulders. The little boy is no more than five, glee present on his face as if he was caught mid-laugh. Alec smiles too, probably laughing at the kid carding his fingers through Alec’s dark hair. The innocence in the photo makes Magnus’ heart melt a bit.

“What are you doing here, Magnus?” Alec asks a bit louder. His voice is shot to all hell, and as Magnus walks around the desk, he sees Alec on the floor looking shot to all hell too. His eyes are red, and his face is stained with tears. His dark hair is tousled—no doubt from running his hands through it repeatedly. 

“Simon told me about what happened,” Magnus explains, crouching down to sit next to Alec. He slides his hands over Alec’s. “ _ Oh darling, _ ” Magnus coos softly, “I’m  _ so sorry. _ ”

Alec glances down to his lap, sniffling again. “She was just a little girl,” he starts brokenly. “She’d been scheduled for the surgery, but while I was operating, her blood pressure went up and—” he chokes on another sob. “S-She was just a little girl, Magnus. I—”

His voice cracks again, breath shuddering painfully as he pulls his hands from Magnus’ as he cradles his face. Magnus’ heart breaks at the gesture, and almost immediately he’s leaning forward to close the space between them. Shushing him gently, he brings Alec closer. Alec accepts the gesture, burying his cries into Magnus’ chest. Magnus just sits quietly, running one hand up the planes of Alec’s back, the other rubbing gently at the hairs on the nape of Alec’s neck.

When Alec’s cries finally subside, Alec pulls back. His gaze remains fixated on his lap.

“ _ I’m sorry _ ,” he whispers apologetically.

Magnus’s hand trails from the nape of Alec’s neck to gently stroke against the coarse stubble of Alec’s jawline. “Alexander,” he coos, “There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“It’s just—” he cuts himself off, swallowing thickly. “It’s always awful when a patient dies on the table. It’s like…like I didn’t  _ do  _ enough. I wasn’t strong enough or quick enough to help them.” He winces, threading his hands through his hair. “Then the  _ kids. _ Oh god. Operating on kids is so much worse. They have so much life to live and they have so much hope, and when you’re prepping them for surgery, some of them are anxious and scared so you assure them it’s going to be okay, but sometimes you just don’t know and—”

“Alexander,” Magnus interrupts, clutching his shoulders. “Breathe.”

Alec sucks in a harsh gasp of breath. He holds it a minute before releasing it in a sigh. “Sorry,” he apologizes again. “They just always remind me of Max.”

Magnus’ gaze softens. He glances over his shoulder to the pictures on the wall. “Is Max the little boy in those pictures? The one sitting on your shoulders?”

Alec nods silently, eyes shutting as he tries not to cry again. “Yeah,” he whispers. “He was my baby brother.”

Magnus’ stomach churns at the word  _ was. _ He settles a bit closer to Alec, taking Alec’s hands in his own once more. “What happened to him? If it’s not too much to ask.”

It’s silent for a couple of minutes as Alec collects his breath, sniffling every now and again. He swipes his tongue across his lower lip before he speaks. “I was 15 when he was born,” Alec starts. “He was so tiny and fragile, and I remember my mom saying that he would need his big brother to protect him. He loved to explore. The world was his oyster and he was eager to find every new wonder the world possessed.”

The doctor’s brows thread together. “But then…he got sick. Really sick. We took him to the hospital to see what was going on and—” He swallows thickly again. “They ran a few tests and found out he had Leukemia.”

Magnus closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and squeezes Alec’s hands. Alec squeezes back before continuing.

“It was a terminal diagnosis. They gave him only a few months left to live. But even then, even though they told him he was going to die, he wasn’t scared. They made him as comfortable as possible, and he really liked watching cartoons all day.” A fond smile slips at the thought. “Mom wouldn’t allow him to do that before he was hospitalized.” A deep sigh follows as he squeezes Magnus’ hand again. “He was a good kid.”

“How old was he?”

“Seven,” Alec says almost immediately. “He died a month before his eighth birthday.”

“Oh Alec…” Magnus starts softly, eyes falling to their joined hands. “I…I can’t even imagine what that’s like. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Alec says nothing, only wordlessly nodding. Magnus can see his lip quivering slightly, trying to keep the tears and emotions from bubbling over.

“Come here,” he beckons softly, pulling at Alec’s fingertips. Alec seems hesitant with the gesture at first, stopping multiple times as Magnus attempts to pull Alec into his lap. After a few minutes, Alec finally settles, with his head resting against Magnus’ shoulder. Magnus’ arms wrap around the doctor’s frame, hands rubbing up and down his back gently.

“There’s no need for you to keep it all in,” Magnus speaks up once more. “You can cry and scream and do whatever you need, Alexander. Let go.”

And Alec does. The dam breaks at he’s gasping in shuddered breaths, letting out garbled cries and whimpers, shaking against Magnus’ frame. Magnus takes it all in, holding him and whispering small comforts in his ears, kissing his head, rubbing his back.

This is the part of the medical field nobody sees, Magnus realizes. Often times people see the so called ‘glamor’ of the job: the lives saved, the families reunited, the miracles made. But nobody acknowledges the horrors. The people who curse them out on the daily, those whose hearts are broken when the ones they love don’t make it. Many cast off the doctors, as if they are seemingly unaffected by an unsuccessful surgery. But it hangs over them, follows like a shadow. Magnus is certain that Alec knows every soul that hasn’t made it off the table by his hands. He knows Alec thinks of them every day, how he guilts himself when he feels he hasn’t done enough when in fact he’s done all he can do.

Those people forget that the doctors feel just as much for their patients as they do. They don’t see this, the breakdown of an individual who tried their best, but still couldn’t save a life. They don’t see the guilt or the pain these medical professionals feel on a daily basis.

Soon, Alec’s cries subside, and he pulls back. Keeping his eyes down, he maneuvers off of Magnus’ lap. Magnus notices immediately how red and puffy his eyes look, how his cheeks are stained with tears, how his sniffles are still just a tad bit harsh.

“ _ Sorry _ ,” Alec apologizes breathlessly, reaching up to grab a tissue from the box on top of his desk.

“There’s no need to apologize, Alexander. You’ve done the same for me many times.”

Alec seems to be content with that answer as another silence blankets over them. Alec blows his nose a couple more times before throwing the tissue in the trash bin. Magnus looks back to him then, eyes focused on his frame.

“Is he the reason you became a doctor?”

Alec nods again. “Yeah, for the most part,” he starts, though his voice is thick and cracked from crying. “I had just finished undergrad when he died. I hadn’t thought about getting another degree, since biological science and genetics was a hell of a degree on its own. But after being in that hospital and seeing what those doctors did for Max…I felt a call.” He looks down to his hands, brushing against his fingers lightly. “I took the test and started medical school not long after.”

“And neurology?” Magnus prompts. “Were you just naturally drawn to that?”

He nods again. “We started going over it in some of the lectures, about neural pathways and the ways in which the brain worked.” He shrugs a bit. “It was interesting, and I found myself enthralled with it. So here I am.”

Magnus smiles softly. “Here you are.”

He watches as Alec shifts once more, fixing the collar of his doctor’s coat as he moves. Magnus’ eyes catch the inscription on the side of the coat, the name of the hospital stitched in with dark blue thread.

“So  _ Chief of Neurosurgery _ , huh?” Magnus says humorously. “Failed to mention that before.”

Alec’s lips twitch upward in a ghost of a smile. “Yeah…it’s uh…it’s not really a popular conversation topic.”

Magnus snorts. “You’re kidding, right?” He shifts on the floor, so he sits across from Alec. “Alexander, you’re the  _ chief of neurosurgery _ , the head of your department.  _ How _ is that not a conversation topic?”

Alec shrugs half-heartedly. “A lot of people don’t want to hear me go on and on about minimally invasive endonasal endoscopic surgeries and they sure as hell don’t want to deal with me after—” he cuts himself off. “I’ve just found it easier to say I’m just a doctor. Not the chief, not the head of a department, just…a regular, boring doctor.”

“Alexander,” Magnus starts softly, reaching out and taking Alec’s hand in his own. “I’m not going anywhere. You can talk to me about all your grotesque, bloody surgeries, how Simon won’t ever shut up when you need him to, how cardiology still hates you for having that bacon burger every Thursday. I care about you, Alexander, and that means I want to hear about your life, your goals, just— _ you. _ ”

Those bright hazel eyes scan over Magnus’ features. There’s a warmth that seeps in them only seconds later, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles widely.

“So you do know his name.”

Magnus scoffs. “After all that,  _ that’s _ what you’re focusing on?”

Alec’s smile stays splayed across his face as he looks down to their joined hands, threading their fingers together. “Thank you,” he says finally. “There’s…There aren’t a lot of people who come looking for me after something like this happens. I just usually kind of deal with this myself.”

Magnus looks down to their joined hands and squeezes slightly. “No one should have to deal with this alone.”

There’s a pause before their eyes meet once more. Alec’s eyes shift between Magnus’ eyes and his lips. Magnus licks his bottom lip gently, leaning forward until the last thing he sees is Alec’s eyes fluttering shut.

The kiss is tender, gentle in a way that almost hurts. It’s a kiss that’s soft, not a rush nor a cover up. It doesn’t take away the seriousness of their conversation, but instead seals it in place. Magnus isn’t going anywhere, and neither is Alec. They’re in this together, through the thick and the thin.

They’re in love.

_ God, no, _ Magnus thinks to himself.  _ It’s too early for that. _ It’s too early for love, for him to love this man in his arms, this man who is kissing him so tenderly and lovingly that—

Magnus deepens the kiss, turning off his brain as he melts into the sensation of Alec’s lips against his, of the subtle drag and burn of his stubble across Magnus face. There’s a ragged breath—from him or from Alec he isn’t quite sure. His emotions are bubbling over, spilling into his chest and he feels so overwhelmed he just wants to keep kissing Alec and forget about it.

Despite Magnus’ wishes, Alec slows down their kisses. He can feel Alec’s smile against his lips as Magnus whines— _ fucking whines _ —when he starts to pull away. Magnus’ eyes flutter open as Alec pulls away fully. Those emerald-golden hues are so close, and Magnus can see the faintest trace of brown towards the center.

Alec’s nose brushes against Magnus’ in a gesture so domestic Magnus’ heart aches.

“Magnus?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have any plans for Christmas?”

Magnus blinks once. “I’m sorry?”

“Christmas,” he repeats. “Do you have plans?”

“I—No?” Magnus responds in more of a question. “Do you?”

“Well I was hoping to,” Alec starts, smile slipping up his face. “I was hoping I could take my boyfriend out to see the Christmas lights next week. It’s uh…kind of a tradition that I did with my family in the past. But ever since Max, we haven’t—” He cuts the sentence short with a bite of his lip. “I’d like to start again though. Taking you. If you’re up to it of course.”

Magnus hums. “It sounds lovely. And romantic.”

“Yeah? I thought so too.” His eyes meet Magnus’ once more. “So…will you go with me? I know this place downtown that serves the perfect cup of hot cocoa.”

“I  _ do _ love hot cocoa,” Magnus affirms. Alec gives him another questioning look, as if prodding for an answer. Magnus rolls his eyes and restrains a smile. “Alright. We’ll go.”

The smile that pulls across Alec’s face is warm and gentle, and soon Alec is closing the distance between them again with a chaste kiss.

_ I love you _ , Magnus thinks, and it sits on the tip of his tongue, ready to come out. He swallows it back instead. “You’re going to spoil me, Alexander.”

“I have a feeling you don’t mind too much.”

Magnus chuckles. “I am one lucky man.”

Alec looks at him with mirth in his eyes. “Not as lucky as I am.”

As if on cue, Alec’s phone pings. He looks down with a sigh, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “And…I have rounds.”

“A doctor’s job is never easy.”

Alec huffs. “No it is not.” He looks back up to Magnus and gives another shy smile. “Okay, so then I’ll see you later?”

Magnus squeezes his hand once more. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

With another smile and a peck on the cheek from Alec, the doctor is up on his feet, wiping away the exhaustion from tears and lack of sleep. He slips his phone back into his coat pocket before opening the office door, going back into the world to save lives.

Magnus watches him go in silence, the door closing back and leaving him in the silence of the office. There’s distant chatter of the hospital staff outside, but in here, there’s not a sound. Magnus sighs, leaning against the back of the desk. His mind drifts to Alec, their kisses, his smile, and—

And, Catarina was right.

He’s in love with Alexander Lightwood.

O _ h god _ , he’s screwed.

X

The new year comes quickly, and Magnus can already tell this year is different from the others before.

Magnus usually dreads it, since the new year is only days away from the new semester and he works tirelessly to get his assignments, schedules, and office hours in order before the first day. But strangely enough, all his paperwork has been done. His syllabus has been drafted and he’s got all his notes for his first evening lecture sorted.

But paperwork isn’t the only difference. He actually celebrates this year, countdown and all. Usually he doesn’t go out. Every New Year’s celebration comes with alcohol, so every year he stays home nursing a singular glass of bubbly apple cider and watches the countdown celebration on TV. This year, however, he manages to go out. He goes over to Alec’s, a celebration for just the two of them. When the ball drops, Alec pulls him close and kisses him so deeply that his toes curl. They partake in a couple sips of sparkling cider, but the remnants of that deep kiss have them eager for more.

They don’t just celebrate the New Year that night. They celebrate each other, the happiness Magnus feels whenever they’re together. They share a multitude of kisses, each leaving Magnus more breathless than before. Each touch, each caress, each gentle rock of hips has his mind blank and his heart light. Melting back into the sheets that night with Alec by his side feels like the best thing to happen in his life.

For a moment, Magnus forgets that his friend is dying.

It isn’t until that Tuesday, the day after classes have officially started back, that the blissful start to the new year promptly stops.

From the second he steps foot in the hospital, he notices something is off. He approaches the front desk and as he meets Clary’s gaze, she gives this look—barely there, gone in a millisecond look of sadness and Magnus can feel the cold grasp of fear prickling at the base of his spine.

He tears away from the reception desk then, roaming down familiar halls and ascending known staircases until he reaches the ICU.

The ICU is still the same: still quiet and still present with intensivists and nurses tending to the few rooms in the main space of the ICU. There’s no chaos, no saddened stares or worried faces, and for a moment, Magnus breathes a sigh of relief.

A sigh he expels far too soon.

As Magnus nears the room, the air shifts again. He immediately knows that something is wrong before he steps foot in Ragnor’s room. It’s too loud. Even when the TV is on, it’s never this loud in the room. There’s that familiar beep of the heart monitor, but it’s followed by gasp of air and a hollow puff a second after. Magnus can feel his heart stop in his chest at the sound.

When he steps into the doorway, his breath catches in his lungs.

Ragnor lies on the bed as he did last year, blissfully still and eyes closed. But now…now he’s strapped to a ventilator again, just like he was the first month he was here.

“W-Why…Why is he on a ventilator…?” Magnus breathes out, voice wavering as his gaze stays trained on Ragnor’s bedridden form. He can hear his bag slip from his shoulder. It probably hits the floor, but the sound doesn’t reach his ears.

Alec looks up from his tablet then, his eyes widening at Magnus’ sudden presence in the room. “Magnus—”

Magnus’ feet are unsteady as he wobbles towards Ragnor’s bedside. His steps are both rushed and desperate, but he’s unable to reach the beside as Alec intercepts him halfway. Magnus’ eyes are still glued to Ragnor, to the ventilator that proves that something is wrong, that it’s not okay, that  _ Ragnor is dying. _

“W-Why is he on the ventilator again?” Magnus asks desperately. His voice wavers and chokes in his throat. As Alec’s hands grip his arms, Magnus’ gaze shift to Alec, his despair turning to aggression. “Why is he on the ventilator, Alec?!” he cries out, pushing back against Alec’s chest. “You said he was getting better! You said he’d be okay! You said—!”

His voice fractures and he lets out a gasping sob, his knees no longer holding him upright. Alec holds him steady, slowly easing him down to the floor. His voice is quiet and calm as he speaks. “Magnus,” he tries to meet Magnus’ eyes, ducking down into his field of vision. “Magnus, look at me.”

Magnus takes a minute to get another gasping breath in before his eyes meet those familiar hazels.

Alec swallows thickly before he begins. “Ragnor has contracted pneumonia,” he starts. Magnus’ lower lip trembles as he continues. “It sometimes happens in the ICU, but we caught it early, and we’ve put him on antibiotics and medications to fight it. We’re doing everything we can to make sure it doesn’t get any worse.” He squeezes Magnus’ arms in his grip slightly. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure he’ll make it out okay.”

Magnus’ gaze drifts over to the bed, to Ragnor. The ventilator has been reattached to his tracheotomy tube, and his chest lifts and deflates in tune with the pulses of the machine. It’s no longer Ragnor breathing himself, it’s something breathing for him.

“Is he in pain?” Magnus asks next. He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. “Is it hurting him?”

“I—”

There’s a horrible, god-awful retching sound from above and Magnus watches as Ragnor’s chest convulses. He’s off the ground in seconds, ripping away from Alec and grasping Ragnor’s hands in his shaky ones. “Oh god, oh god. Alec—!” he cries out. “Alec what’s happening to him?! Please, please help him!”

“Magnus, it’s okay,” Alec assures, bringing out his stethoscope and pressing it against Ragnor’s chest. “He’s just…he’s just coughing. He’s okay.”

Magnus shakes his head back and forth, eyes still trained on his friend. Ragnor’s chest stops convulsing, and there’s a slight whimpered sound that he can hear in between the pulses of the ventilator. “He’s not…” Magnus starts. “He’s hurting…you’re hurting him. He—He can’t  _ breathe _ , and oh god—”

He gasps as if all the oxygen in his lungs has suddenly vanished, and Alec comes around to help Magnus back into the chair. He sucks in air, but it doesn’t reach his lungs, not enough for him to catch his breath. His eyes are glued to Ragnor. Why did he think that he could hold onto hope? What made him think that Ragnor could truly recover? Why was he so convinced that Ragnor wasn’t going to die?

_ He’s dying, _ Magnus’ brain supplies.  _ He’s dying and it’s all your fault. You can’t save him. You have to watch him die. _

“Help him,” Magnus gasps out. “Please…Please he  _ can’t _ die. Not now. Help him, Alexander,  _ please _ .”

“Okay,” Alec says, nodding. His eyes glance away from Magnus, towards the door. Magnus doesn’t turn, yet knows someone is there behind him. “Okay, I’m going to check up on him and make sure he’s okay. Catarina’s gonna come and take you to get some water, okay?”

He stops gasping for air in that moment, suspended in that moment. His eyes are locked back on Ragnor, on that same expressionless face he’s had for the past five months. It feels like he’s phased out of reality, like he isn’t a part of the world around him. His body loosens, no longer tense as his eyes lose focus.

_ It’s all your fault. _

“Magnus,” Catarina’s kind voice echoes out, “we’re gonna get up so Alec can do his exam, okay?” She pulls on his arm, a touch that feels so distant and out of place. Magnus’ eyes don’t move from Ragnor as he’s pulled up. He has to keep looking. If he takes his eyes off of Ragnor, he could die. He could step out of the room and Ragnor could die, and Magnus would be none the wiser.

“I-I don’t wanna go…” he says lowly, voice sounding so hopeless and empty. “I can’t leave him alone.”

“He won’t be,” Catarina assures. “We’ll be right back, Magnus. Alec will be here with him the entire time.”

Magnus doesn’t meet Alec’s eyes. “You’ll watch over him? You won’t leave?”

“I won’t leave him.”

“He won’t leave him, Magnus,” Catarina says again. “Come on. Let’s get you some water.”

His body moves only because Catarina is shifting him away from the bedside, turning his back to the bed and leading him out the door. Catarina’s hands are around him, guiding him as if he’s lost.

He is lost. He’s lost every fiber of hope that had stitched him together. He’s lost his friend to an infection that will most likely kill him. He’s lost the one person he needed the most.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Magnus asks hopelessly as Catarina guides him down the hall.

Catarina doesn’t reply immediately, and Magnus has to restrain a sob. The lack of an immediate answer is enough for him. Ragnor is going to die and it’s all his fault.

“We don’t know that. Ragnor is strong. He can do this.”

It’s a lie. He’s still weak. Magnus knows he’ll never be able to make it through.

It’s only a matter of time.

X

Time passes in slow motion after that.

Everything slows around Magnus, as if he’s been submerged underwater and forced to watch Ragnor suffer for eternity.

He never wanted this. Ragnor’s one wish was to travel, to never stay stagnant. He hated sitting still, helpless. Yet, here he is, unable to move, to breathe on his own. He’s unable to even open his eyes after five months— _ five months _ . Perhaps this is Ragnor telling them that he wants to die, that he’d rather be gone than sit here and let them hook him up to every machine and be a vegetable for the rest of his life. Maybe it’s Magnus’ sign, that he won’t ever get his friend back, that there’s nothing left he can do to rebuild a bridge too burnt to salvage. Maybe it’s—

“Hey,” Alec calls gently, rapping his knuckles against the glass of the ICU doors. “You’re still here.”

“…I couldn’t leave him,” Magnus confesses. He’s watched Ragnor for the past few hours, watching as Ragnor convulses and groans as he suffers trying to breathe. He’s held Ragnor’s hand through it all, through every hourly check up and through every round of medicine given to him.

“You’ve been here ever since this morning,” Alec states, looking down at his watch. “It’s almost 9 now.” He pauses for a moment, waiting for Magnus’ response, but it doesn’t come. “I’m done with my rounds for the night, so I was thinking maybe we could go out and get something if—”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to go out tonight,” Magnus interrupts. “I…I can’t go out and pretend everything is fine when it obviously  _ isn’t _ . I’ve done enough of that already.”

Alec shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Alright,” he agrees. “We won’t go out.” He pads over to where Magnus sits, squatting down in front of him and holding Magnus’ hands in his. “How about we just go home? We’ll get you fed and rested, and you can be right back here tomorrow.” Magnus opens his mouth, but Alec beats him to it. “Simon is working tonight, and I’ll make sure that he sits here and keeps Ragnor company until we get back tomorrow morning. Okay?”

Magnus looks back to his friend, taking a deep breath. “Okay. T-They’ll call if anything changes, right?”

Alec nods. “You’ll be the first to know.”

He takes a shuddering breath, holding it for a moment before it expels. “Okay,” he starts again. “We…will go home. I—um—I was going to make some soup tonight. It’s my mother’s recipe. Ragnor’s favorite.”

There’s a reassuring squeeze to his hands. “That sounds wonderful, Magnus.” He lets a small smile slip. “Want me to get your things?”

Magnus nods slowly, and Alec rises up, breaking away to gather Magnus’ things. Magnus tries to collect himself for a moment, taking a few steady breaths before he’s lifting himself up from the chair. His body aches and he feels a bit dizzy. He can’t remember the last time he ate, and all he’s been doing is sitting in the same chair for the last 12 hours. Despite his body’s protests, he stands, closing the two-step distance to Ragnor’s bedside.

He looks over his friend, who looks rather peaceful right now. According to his EEG, he’s sleeping and will probably continue to do so until his next coughing fit. Magnus lifts his heavy hand to trace across the skin of Ragnor’s forehead, brushing away the loose strands that dare to fall into his eyes.

“I’m going now,” Magnus starts quietly. “But I’ll be back tomorrow. Stay here. Don’t—Don’t go without me, okay?”

He know there will be no reply or hum to follow. With another hesitant breath, he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the space above his eyebrow.

_ He’s cold again. _

“Okay,” Magnus sighs out, turning to Alec with as much of a smile as he can manage right now. “Let’s go home.”

X

They stay at Magnus’ place tonight instead of Alec’s loft.

It’s not often that Alec has stayed over at his townhome. More often than not, Magnus finds excuses to not be here, to not be surrounded by the constant memories of things long past. But right now, he can’t think of being anywhere else. Being here is like being with Ragnor, since he’s everywhere in his home. Even if Magnus can’t sit with him all night, he can still come home and make Ragnor’s favorite soup, switch on the TV to the channel showing  _ Family Matters _ , and cuddle up in the blanket Ragnor got him from his travels to Sweden.

Though Alec has stayed over once or twice, he hasn’t really been able to view every room of Magnus’ home. While Magnus prepares the soup, Alec walks from room to room. He can hear Alec’s distant footsteps in the front hall, to the dining room he’s hardly used, to the living room just across from the kitchen.

He enters Magnus’ field of vision, tall frame walking silently across the room. He meets Magnus’ gaze with a small smile before he gazes around at the furniture, the throw across the sofa, all the way around to the multitude of shelves that house all of his books.

Alec seems completely enraptured by the bookshelves, eyes passing across each shelf, flitting top to bottom, left to right as he travels across the vast amount of books Magnus has collected over the years. He’s got a large collection of everything and nothing, from the most monotonous explanations of quantum theory to the most gratifying works of fiction. There are books on basic chemistry, on biology and genetics; books on literature and foreign language, even copies of manuscripts and journals from all types of academia.

“You have quite the collection,” Alec states plainly. He steps closer, eyes locking onto the shelf right in his eyeline. His fingers brush against the spines, just a ghost of a touch before it stops on a spine. Magnus could recognize it anywhere, its worn edges, its faded, dusty grey exterior, its gold accents that shine when the light catches it just right. He turns back to the stove with a smile.

“Reading was the one thing that kept me sane,” Magnus starts, stirring the pot and watching the noodles loop around in the water. “Even when everything was going to hell around me, I could always sink into books to provide some sort of distraction.”

“Even the chemistry books?”

“ _ Especially _ the chemistry books.”

There’s a chuckle from Alec that’s warm and bright. As it simmers, his fingers stay on the faded-grey book, the edge of his pointer finger catching the top of the spine, pulling it out gently.

Magnus doesn’t even have to read the title to know which book Alec has picked. “That one is my favorite.”

“I can tell.”

Magnus lowers the temperature to a simmer and steps away, eyes focusing back on Alec’s frame. He’s turned back from the bookshelf, and Magnus watches as Alec’s eyes pass across the pages with a slight furrow of his brow, concentration speckled in his features. Delicate fingers pass over the pages, pink lips muttering words that disappear into thin air.

“Ragnor lost his parents at a young age,” he starts. “His late grandmother took him in, gave him a house and a life full of love and happiness. She taught him the joys of storytelling and reading. She gave him the wisdom that he’s carried all throughout his life.” His eyes flit down to the book. “She died the year we graduated from high school.” He shakes his head. “Ragnor was devastated, of course, but he carried her memory with him through every year until he got his doctorate. That’s when he decided to honor her. He wrote down everything he could remember, every story she had ever told him, every memory that they had made together, all the wisdom she had given him. Ragnor wanted to honor her, to remember her and to show everyone who that woman was to him.”

A smile crosses Magnus’ face, a faint warmth pooling in his chest. “Ragnor gave that to me just after I received my doctorate,” he explains. “It’s his original copy, with handwritten notes, extra pages, stories that never made it into the actual biography itself.” His eyes focus on the book again as Alec turns a page. “It’s my favorite book I own.”

There’s a spark of surprise that passes Alec’s eyes as he flips through the pages, hands brushing against them and reveling in the coarse texture. “I can tell,” he repeats, mumbling. “The spine is well worn, and the color is faded, meaning you’ve kept it out a long while.” He smiles brightly. “It’s got a hint of sandalwood in the pages, no doubt you’ve probably fallen asleep with it.”

“Quite the detective,” Magnus teases. His smile fades a bit as silence falls between them. The cogs of his brain move in his head, piecing together his thoughts before he speaks. “When I first read it…I cried. I’ve never known what it’s like to lose someone like that, to have someone so close to you, who had given you everything—suddenly slip away. Reading that book made me feel like I was actually part of a family, a loving family. I didn’t have that back then.”

The words seem to catch Alec by surprise, his eyes lifting from the book. They’re wide, brows lifted with a silent question forming on his lips.

Magnus doesn’t meet his eyes, glancing down to the floor instead as he walks over, closing the distance before he sits on the edge of the couch cushions. Alec hesitates for a moment, the book closing with a sharp pop at the spine. His footsteps are heavy as they carry him to the couch, sitting down close enough to Magnus while still giving him space. Magnus swallows thickly.

“What were you like back then?” Alec asks quietly.

“You don’t want to know the person I was back then,” Magnus disagrees, still not meeting is his eyes. “That person…I wasn’t the person I am now.” He swallows thickly. “Back then…back then I wanted to be good. I wanted to be good enough, and I thought that if I did what my dad wanted he’d stop hitting my mom, stop hitting me. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell anyone of what my dad did because I thought that maybe one day he’d stop. But he didn’t. So I left for school the next morning, and I didn’t come home. I didn’t go back. At age 14, I was on the streets. I couldn’t afford anything, and spent my life wondering if it’d ever get better.”

He breathes deeply, looking down to his hands. “In my junior year, I found my relief in drugs and alcohol. I got high at a party for the first time, and it was like all my pain had just… _ vanished. _ It felt so good and it didn’t hurt and I could forget for just a moment about all the things I had to endure in that house. I OD’d the first time in senior year and for a moment, my heart stopped.” He shakes his head. “And I didn’t learn. I just kept doing it. All through the rest of high school, up into college. I landed in the ER so many times, the staff knew me by name.  _ Oh, have you heard? Bane’s back, _ ” he mocks himself. “ _ Did you hear? Bane’s OD’d again. Haven’t you heard? It’s the fifth time he’s been resuscitated. Oh look, Bane’s in restraints since he tried to off himself by stabbing his IV in his arm again. _ ”

Magnus is breathless as the words come out, lips quivering and hands shaking. He doesn’t meet Alec’s eyes, can’t bear to as his trembling fingers find the cuffs of his shirt, delicately undoing the buttons there and rolling up his sleeves.

He can hear Alec’s hitch of breath, his slight gasp as Magnus rolls up the sleeve completely. He stares down at the marks on his arm, all the little scars left by needles and the line where he tried to off himself with an IV.

“ _ This _ is the kind of person I was, Alec,” Magnus strains. “I was so lost and so gone and I just…I couldn’t feel anything anymore.” He finally looks up, meeting Alec’s gaze with tears in his eyes. “And yes, Ragnor got me out of that, but—but even after seven years of sobriety, there are still days I stroll past a bar and think of going inside. There are still days where I want to go down the alley on tenth, where I  _ know _ they still sell.” His lower lip trembles. “So are you proud of me, Alec? Are you proud of me for…for this?”

Alec says nothing, and the silence settles once more. The pot simmering on the stove bubbles audibly a couple of times. It pops, just like the illusion around them. Magnus can barely hold it together, closing his eyes as his head falls heavy.

Warm hands move soon after, mapping out the expanse of Magnus’ back, squeezing lightly in his shaking fingers. Alec is there, the scent of crisp linen and that same hint of pine flooding Magnus’ senses as Alec presses closer. His chest is warm against Magnus’ back as he molds himself to Magnus. His breathing is gentle, controlled. The ghost of his breath tickles at the base of Magnus’ spine.

“ _ I’m so sorry, Magnus, _ ” Alec whispers gently. There’s a grit in his voice, the one Magnus knows all too well. It the same grit that was present in his voice when Magnus found him hiding in his office after surgery. It’s the grit that comes from him holding everything in, from bottling up his emotions until he can hardly speak.

“It isn’t your fault,” Magnus says lowly, looking at their joined hands once more.

He can hear Alec swallow thickly beside him. “I know…but…I know what it feels like, I know how difficult addiction is and how  _ easy _ it is to just fall right back into the same patterns.” He glances down at their joined hands. “I’ve seen Izzy fall victim to it time and time again, and I—” Alec cuts himself off, breath shuddering slightly. “I am so  _ proud _ of you, Magnus.”

Magnus can’t help but huff out a laugh. It’s bitter on his tongue as he shakes his head. “Proud?” he asks exhaustively. “How can you possibly be proud of me?! I just told you that I have the urge to relapse every day!”

“Yes, you did! But you  _ haven’t _ . You haven’t and that takes  _ strength _ , Magnus. You’re so strong and brave and selfless, and Magnus I—” he stops, licking his lips as he tries to collect his thoughts. “I am so very proud of you for that.”

Magnus doesn’t respond immediately, letting his eyes fall back down to his hands. “Are you sure?” He questions quietly. “Could you still be proud of me if I told you that the urge almost won last year?”

Alec stiffens behind him, and Magnus can hear his hitch of breath clear as day.

_ That’s it, _ Magnus thinks.  _ He’s going to leave you. No one wants a drug addict for a boyfriend. _

Magnus has to restrain a broken sob as Alec’s hands slip away from his, as his heat pulls away and that comfort that was there before is suddenly  _ gone. _ He has to close his eyes, because he can’t bear to watch Alec leave him. Because he’s going to leave him.

They always do.

Before Magnus can really process anything else, there’s a brush against his hands once more. His eyes pop open to see Alec’s fingers running across his own, cradling both of his hands. Alec looks a mix between distraught and concerned, brows furrowed and bottom lip quivering just slightly.

“What—” Alec starts, voice shaky. He swallows and tries again. “What happened?”

Magnus lowers his gaze to their hands again, taking a gasp of breath before starting.

“Last year…I met a woman in Miami when I was on vacation with Ragnor. She was charming and I fell so hard and so fast for her. Ragnor hated her the minute they met, told me she wasn’t good for me. But I didn’t listen. I stuck by her side and I fell into her lifestyle.” He swallows thickly. “Camille, she—she’d mingle with a lot of different crowds. It was fine at first, just your natural company, people and friends she knew who were nice and hospitable. But…then it got bad. She’d beg me to come out with her, to the clubs and parties she always went to. I can avoid a bar rather easily, but those clubs, they’d spike everything and you wouldn’t be able to taste it.”

He can practically hear the heavy bass ringing in his eardrums from the club that night, with the neon lights above casting everything in pink and blue hues. He remembers asking the bartender for a ginger ale and fruit punch mix. He remembers that drink, and how the world began to blur, how everything became louder and hotter. He remembers Camille’s laughter in his ear, her hands down his chest, her lips on his neck.

Magnus pulls his hands away from Alec to brush against his arms as if to comfort himself.

“She dragged me upstairs, to the balcony where everyone was snorting coke. The drink I had…it must’ve been spiked because I wasn’t aware of what anyone was doing. Sitting on that couch, she did line after line, getting high. She tried to pressure me into getting high with her. Said the sex would be better that way.”

He doesn’t look up, but he can feel the disappointment bleeding into the air around them. He can feel Alec’s frown and furrowed brow as he explains, and he can’t help but crumple under the thought that Alec will most definitely leave him after this.

“I was right there…I was so close to giving in. The lines were on the table and she kept whispering in my ear to do it. But I couldn’t. In that moment…I thought about Ragnor, what he said to me when we fought. He was right about her and I was just an  _ idiot _ who didn’t see how awful she was for me.” He closes his eyes and breathes in. “I got up from the sofa and walked out. I haven’t heard from her since.”

There’s a heavy silence that sits in between them after he speaks. Magnus’ skin prickles with anxiousness, with guilt, with so much shame that he can’t help but shiver. He can’t help but huff out a breath, something that builds to a chuckle so forced and painful that his chest aches with each breath.

“God,” he breathes out in disbelief, “look at me. I’ve completely ruined what should’ve been a wonderful evening.” Magnus buries his fingers into the fabric of his sleeves, suddenly hugging too tightly around his body. “It should’ve been a romantic dinner, but instead…instead I just had to open my big mouth and—” He stops, shaking his head. “You never signed on for this…this ugly, disgusting part of me.”

“Magnus—”

“Why do you even bother with me?!” Magnus snaps, eyes searching for answers he can’t find in Alec’s eyes. “I’m a  _ drug addict _ , Alexander! I have been  _ lying _ to you from the day we met! I tried to be normal, to convince everyone that I was normal, but I’m not! I’m not normal!”

“Your addiction isn’t your fault.”

“ _ Yes, _ it is Alec!” he shouts helplessly. “Don’t you get it? This is  _ entirely _ my fault!  _ I _ made the decision to start drinking and doing drugs.  _ I  _ decided to pick Camille over my friends.  _ I _ decided that I was better off dead than having to sit in the hospital for the rest of my life!” His words are bitter. He’s angry. So, so angry.

Magnus threads his fingers through his hair, pulling harshly at the strands as he tries not to cry. He stands up, pacing back and forth. He can’t do this, he can’t bear to have Alec here. He’s too understanding, it’s too much. It doesn’t make sense.

“Magnus—”

“Tell me I’m damaged goods, Alec!”

“No!” Alec yells back, standing up to his full height. “You are a good person, Magnus!”

“ _ NO, I’M NOT!! _ ” Magnus screams back, his voice cracking painfully in his chest. He breaks then, shattering into pieces as his knees give out under him. His breath shudders, and he cradles his face with his hands as he stumbles and falls.

But Alec is there to catch him, those arms hooking around Magnus’ middle. He helps cushion Magnus’ fall, and he surrounds Magnus with a heat so warm and comforting and—

_ And why is he still here? _

He’s in shambles, complete pieces on the floor as he cries his eyes out, ruining his makeup that he spent far too long on earlier. But it doesn’t matter now, nothing matters because it’s all out and Magnus just feels so dirty and awful.

But Alec doesn’t move. He sits there as Magnus cries his goddamn eyes out, pressing gentle kisses to the nape of Magnus’ neck, with soft shushes and delicate touches. Magnus is broken glass, and Alec is there, picking up the pieces of himself and putting them back together.

They sit there for what feels like hours until Magnus’ lungs are giving up on him and his esophagus is raw. His shaking subsides, and it’s just Alec and Magnus, just the two of them sitting on the floor wrapped in each other.

“You’re a good person, Magnus. I know you want to say you aren’t, that—that you don’t deserve the good things that happen to you. But you do, Magnus. You deserve happiness. Everything that’s happened to you, with your family, with the drugs, it’s not your fault. You’ve been dealt a real shitty hand, but that doesn’t mean you should fold the minute things turn for the better.” He nuzzles against Magnus’ cheek, his breath ghosting against Magnus’ ear and making him shiver just a bit. “Don’t push me away, Magnus. Choose me. Let me stay with you.”

Magnus sniffles harshly in response. “R-Ragnor, he—” he hiccups before starting again, “he said that very same thing to me. The first time I overdosed after I met Ragnor, he was in the room with me. I was so ashamed, screaming and crying for him to just leave me alone, and yet…he held my hand and told me not to push him away.” There’s a ghost of a smile on his features as he stares into Alec’s chest. “He said it wasn’t my fault.”

“Because it wasn’t. And Ragnor’s right; it’s not your fault.” Alec’s fingers hook under Magnus’ chin, turning his gaze up so that he meets the doctor’s emerald-hazel eyes. He gives a soft smile to Magnus, thumb brushing against his cheek lightly. “You are worthy of so many things, Magnus. Worthy of life…” His eyes fall to Magnus’ lips for a long second. “Of love.”

Magnus bites his lip as his eyes meet Alec’s once more. He searches for uncertainty, of deception and lies across the doctor’s face, but finds nothing. “How do you know?” Magnus asks quietly, uncertainty painting across his features. “How do you know that I’m worthy of this life? Of…of love?”

Alec looks to their hands, extending his fingertips out so that he can trace over Magnus’. “Anyone is worthy of life. Everyone is gifted to live for some amount of time, no matter how long. But some people live more than others. They go through things unimaginable to anyone else. Those who come out above that, if ever it be tragic, are worthy to live a life that celebrates their strength.” His gaze drifts to Magnus. “You’ve struggled with family, addiction, bad exes, and bad habits and yet…yet you’re still here, teaching at a university and living a life that you made for yourself.  _ That’s _ how I know you’re worthy of life.”

“And of love? How do you know I’m worthy of love?” Magnus asks again, flush prominent in his cheeks.

A rosy hue dusts over Alec’s cheeks at the question, and he parts his lips, breath hitching on an answer. But he stops, silently taking his hand away from Magnus’ to caress the side of his face.

“Because I love you, Magnus.”

Magnus smiles at him, eyes fluttering shut as he leans into Alec’s touch. He presses a soft, gentle kiss to the inside of Alec’s palm before looking back up to his eyes. In that moment, those familiar feelings bubble up, unable to be contained any longer.

He sets them free.

“I love you too.”

X


	4. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ The little red notification contrasts against the green phone app, staring back at him longingly. With a deep breath, he clicks on the app, opening the calls he’s received. He flips to the voicemail to listen to what message Alec had left him but stops, thumb hovering over the other voicemails still saved in his phone. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> livetweet using the hashtag #ntsbfic

X

Exactly four weeks later, Ragnor’s heart stops.

Magnus is there when it happens. He wishes he wasn’t, wishes that he wouldn’t be forever haunted by the steady beep of the monitor suddenly going flat. He wishes he could forget the scrambling, the screaming for help as nurses come in to try and restart his heart. He wants to forget getting pushed out of the room, hearing the clattering of equipment, the charge of the defibrillator before a thud and a desperate  _ try again  _ from the head nurse. He wishes he could just forget the moment he hears everything just stop, where it goes horrendously silent before they announce his  _ time of death. _

It hangs heavy over his head. Pain blooms vividly in the cavity in his chest and he can barely breathe, wrecked sobs and harsh shudders are the only thing he can manage right now. He’s shaking, unsteady, unable to ground himself any longer.

Ragnor is dead.

His friend is gone.

There’s no telling how long it’s been. Time seems to stop completely, just as Ragnor’s heart had. He’s frozen in time, in mourning, unable to pull himself out of the fact that  _ Ragnor is gone. _

Alec finds him in the hall outside. He all but rushes to Magnus’ side, crouching beside him and extending those large, calloused hands to touch and comfort him. Alec must have heard the news already, must have run over from wherever he had been earlier judging by the flush in his cheeks and the irregularities in his breath. There are words that spill from his lips, but they fall to deaf ears.

It’s all distant. Magnus can barely feel anything amongst the aching chasm growing in his chest. He feels so far away from everything, like he’s looking from the outside in. The whole situation doesn’t seem real, he thinks. It seems like some bad dream, one he’s had far too often.

Except this time, it’s real.

It’s that thought that causes the dam to break, for his fragile heart to finally shatter and his tears to flow freely. There’s a gasping cry that wretches itself from deep inside his lungs, one that cries out for his friend, the friend he knows will never return to him. He carves his painted nails into the skin of his arms, marking angry crescents as he folds further into himself. He wishes to disappear, to escape this sudden onslaught of cold, a cold that is far more frigid than the bitter February air outside.

Alec’s soft touches are what brings him back, the gravity pulling him from the black hole in the space of his mind back down to the hospital hallway on Earth. He crashes back down harshly, and he swears he can feel the ground tremble underneath him as his body and soul merge together once more.

The cry he lets out then is horrendous, ugly and a torrent of all the emotions he’s kept simmering under his skin for these past six months. He folds into Alec’s embrace, tugging at his pristine white coat and smearing his eyeliner and mascara across the shoulders as he buries his face into the crook of his neck. He shakes with vigor, with wrecked gasps and sobs as he just cries and cries and cries against Alec until there’s nothing left to cry, until his eyes begin to sting and his esophagus is raw.

Alec says nothing, only rubbing his hands up and down the planes of Magnus’ back, rubbing small circles into the base of his neck before descending once more. He lets Magnus just break down against him, and when his body seems to stop shaking does he finally pull back a bit. His lips twitch upward in what looks to be a smile, though it vanishes a moment later as he brushes the pad of his thumb across the planes of Magnus’ cheeks, wiping away the smeared and ruined makeup there.

“ _ Let’s get you some water, _ ” he whispers softly, gaze trailing over Magnus’ features. Alec pulls at his hands slightly, easing him up even though his legs are jelly and his world has tilted on its axis. Even though Magnus feels incapable of all movement, Alec winds an arm around his frame, slinging Magnus’ arm around his shoulder as they take a couple of paces towards the bench nearby. Alec eases him down just as slowly before parting for a moment to get some water.

The distance is excruciating. The second Alec leaves, Magnus feels devoid of all grounding, unable to properly sort his feelings. He sputters and moans out with broken cries, curling up once more and just falling apart until he feels a gentle tap at his shoulder. Then Alec is there, an anchor, a source of grounding. His eyes are sad, full of despair as Magnus takes the cup into his shaking hands.

“ _ Slowly _ ,” Alec says quietly, helping Magnus ease the cup upwards, tilting the water forward. The burst of cold is enough to bring him back, for his consciousness to collide with his body once more. He drinks, gulp after gulp, until his lungs are burning and—

Alec takes away the cup before Magnus can effectively drown himself, and Magnus takes a harsh gasp. Alec turns to set the cup down, keeping a heavy hand splayed across Magnus’ back, brushing up and down soothingly.

Magnus loses track of how long they sit there. He feels a sense of guilt, hoarding Alec’s presence here when he should be out on his rounds, saving lives.

Not comforting some hopeless fool over the death of someone who’s been practically brain dead for 6 months.

Magnus sniffles harshly. The sound echoes in the empty hallway, bouncing off the cold tile and white walls. He takes in a deep breath, though it’s far from steady.

Then—for the first time in what feels like forever—he speaks.

“ _ He’s dead, _ ” Magnus croaks out, dropping his head down between his shoulders. He fists the fabric of his jeans harshly and he sobs again. “R-Ragnor’s dead, Alexander. He’s dead and I—”

He cuts himself off with a broken whimper, and Alec wordlessly slides closer, wrapping his arms around Magnus and turning him so Magnus can bury himself into the crook of Alec’s neck. Alec smells strongly of sandalwood, a scent that he’s come to associate with home, and Magnus surrounds himself in it then. He doesn’t cry anymore, he barely has the strength to. Instead, he just lets Alec comfort him, whispering small words of sympathy into his ears and tracing unspecific patterns into the planes of his back.

“I know,” Alec says quietly. “I know.”

X

Magnus wasn’t even aware he fell asleep.

He blinks awake, still held in Alec’s embrace like he’d been before. Alec lifts his chin from atop Magnus’ head as they break apart a bit. Magnus rubs away at the sleep in his eyes, probably smearing what’s left of his makeup across his face in the process.

“How long did I fall asleep for?” Magnus questions, throat scratchy and uncomfortably dry.

Alec looks down to the silver watch on his left wrist. “About twenty minutes,” he says, looking back up to Magnus. “Do you need some more water?”

Magnus pauses for a moment to swallow, though the lack of saliva coating his throat makes it uncomfortable and a touch painful. Meekly, he nods and with a brief smile, Alec pulls away to fetch more water, disappearing down another hall towards the bathrooms Magnus knows are around the corner.

“Dr. Bane?”

The sound of another voice takes his gaze away from the hall Alec disappeared down and to his left. There stands the head nurse herself, donned in her magenta scrubs and messy bun of blonde hair. She looks at Magnus with this sort of pitying glance, one with sadness and silent apologies that Magnus absolutely despises. Before he can say a word, she steps forward, her words careful and steady.

“Do you want to see him?”

Magnus wants to immediately say no, to refuse. But there’s that half of him that still aches, that still wants to see and to hold and to never let go of his dear friend. He lets that half of him free, and with a silent nod the nurses are given their downcast glances and parting the way as they open the door to the hospital room he’s spent the last six months in, the room he’s cried so many tears, where he’s yelled and screamed and just fallen apart at the seams.

Stepping in feels just as cold and lonely as it did the first day he came to the hospital. The air reeks of pure oxygen that flooded out from the machine. The heart monitor is horrendously silent, turned off and disconnected from Ragnor’s finger. The TV Magnus had kept on—the one showing the reruns of Family Matters that Ragnor always had a guilty pleasure for—is turned off, the room completely silent.

It’s the sound of death.

Silence.

He bites down on his quivering lip as he paces over towards the beside once more. The chains on his boots clink with every step, the slight squeak of leather contrasting to the brush of his coat against the sheets of the bed. He casts his eyes upward, traveling over the length of the bedside. He finds Ragnor’s hands, still and unmoving as they have been for all the time he’s been there. His eyes trail up, up to the bicep where the cloth of the gown meets his skin. His gaze pulls up and up, across collarbones and up the column of his neck until he finally wills himself to look at Ragnor’s face.

Magnus isn’t really sure what he should expect, if he should expect to see anything that changed from how he looked since day one. There’s not a damn difference on his face, not a scar or emotion of pain or suffering crossing his features. His eyes remain shut, dark lashes against skin that seems far too pale and cold. His brows are relaxed, and his lips are still. Magnus raises his fingers up, brushing the dark, greying strands of hair across the plains of Ragnor’s forehead. Magnus lets a smile, just the faintest quirk of lips graces his lips before it vanishes once more.

Like this, he almost looks peaceful.

But he’s not.

He’s dead.

And then, Magnus’ bottom lip quivers once more. His eyes flood with tears he thought were long gone and he lets out an ugly sob.

“ _ I’m so sorry, _ ” Magnus cries out, reaching down and grasping at Ragnor’s hand. He seethes at how cold Ragnor feels, how frigid and dead he feels in Magnus’ arms. He brings Ragnor’s hand to his face, pressing it to the side of his face. “ _ I’m so sorry, Ragnor. I’m so sorry I did this to you, that I— _ ”

He gasps out a breath before pressing the hand against his face again, as if the action will pass some warmth, some form of life into his friend’s body. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the interior of the palm in some form of endearment he knows Ragnor can’t feel before he eases it back down to the bed, still as heavy and cold as before. He can hear the door opening again and he turns, only to see Catarina and Raphael standing in the doorway.

Magnus knows he must look like a mess, but he can’t help but let out a saddened, gasping cry as he takes in their gazes, their appearances. They obviously rushed, coming as soon as the call was made and—

And Catarina is rushing in, over to him before hugging Magnus in his entirety, squeezing him with a force that is all too much and not enough. He can hear the door close once more before Raphael’s warm arms also wrap around him. The heat of their breath, of their embrace is such a contrast from Ragnor’s cold frame. He wraps his arms around the both of them.

Then, he cries.

X

An hour later, Magnus is exhausted.

His body has officially given up on him, crying out every tear and letting out every shuddered, gasping breath it can. Catarina and Raphael have left momentarily to talk with the nurses outside. They are much more level headed, he supposes, since Magnus can barely form words that don’t sound all broken and wrecked.

Magnus waits for their return in the painfully silent room. He goes between lifting his gaze from the floor to Ragnor. He can feel the chips of his fractured heart shattering just a little bit more each time he gazes up at his friend.

Ragnor is dead.

It seems to repeat endlessly—that thought. It hangs around him like a storm cloud, following him wherever he goes. He wonders if it will follow him out of the room, out of this hospital he’s spent so much time in.

Magnus spends so much time in his thoughts that he barely hears the door open. It’s only the slight movement in his peripheral vision, the faintest flash of white he can catch before he sighs.

Alec says nothing as he enters, silently padding over towards Magnus before his touch whispers against Magnus’ shoulder blades. Magnus closes his eyes, brow furrowing in slight frustration. He takes a deep breath before he wills himself to speak.

“I was such an ass to him,” Magnus states defeatedly, slumped over in the chair. “I’d been upset with him over my breakup with Camille. He had told me from the start that she was trouble, that she didn’t care for me in the way I cared for her, but—” Magnus stops, cutting himself off as a troubled expression pulls at the corners of his lips. He feels like crying again, but there’s nothing left to cry. His eyelids sting nonetheless. “I yelled at him…told him he was wrong, that I knew better. Then I abandoned him. I abandoned him and—”

Magnus cuts himself off again as his breath shudders painfully. His hands shake as he leans forward cradling his browbone in the palms of his hands. There are no tears shed, they’ve all cried out, but it doesn’t stop his breath from quivering, his body convulsing in pain.

“It’s all my fault,” Magnus says, voice thick and throat constricted. “I killed him Alexander.”

“ _ Magnus _ ,” Alec interjects, tone just a touch harsh. “It’s not your fault.  _ None _ of this is your fault.” He looks to Ragnor, a slight frown worrying the corners of his lips. “You were here with him every day, from the very beginning until the very end.” His gaze shifts back to Magnus. “I know you may not think it, but I’m sure he appreciated every moment you were with him, from the moments you cried by his bedside to the times you would criticize your students for their poor reports.” Alec crouches down, taking one of Magnus’ hands in his own and brushing Magnus’ knuckles lightly with his thumb. “You are not to blame, Magnus. You stayed with him, and if it were me—” The confidence in his words fumble a bit, but he swallows it down and continues. “If it were me, I would be grateful to have someone like you by my side.”

“ _ Stop _ ,” Magnus grits out, taking back his hands to push Alec back slightly. His hands stay on Alec’s forearms, head still hanging low. “ _ Stop… _ ”

He gives a harsh sniffle that rips through the air. Alec remains quiet as Magnus tries to get his bearings. He stays quiet, waiting until Magnus can finally find the words to speak again.

“I don’t even want to  _ think _ about you being gone,” Magnus wavers, fingers burrowing into the fabric of Alec’s white jacket. “I…I just lost my best friend. I don’t want to think about losing the man I love too.”

Alec’s eyes flutter shut, and he nods a couple of times. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out, and then he’s back in Magnus’ space, coming forward and wrapping his arms around Magnus and just being  _ there. _

Magnus basks in that feeling for a while, just breathing in Alec’s essence and how he vaguely smells like the sandalwood shampoo Magnus buys for himself. He tries to drown in the embrace of his lover, tries to block out the horrors that are the reality surrounding him, but all too soon the silence settles and it’s far too quiet for Magnus to block it out any longer.

Ragnor is dead.

His best friend is gone.

Magnus’ breath shudders a bit as his eyes squeeze shut. He tries once more to block out the silence, the sound of death around him by nuzzling into the crook of Alec’s neck. But it fails miserably, and all Magnus can do is break apart with a sigh, eyes opening just enough to keep his gaze latched onto the tears that have stained his jeans. He swallows thickly, intaking a slight breath as he attempts to organize the thoughts running through his mind.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Magnus asks finally, defeatedly.

Alec doesn’t meet his eyes, gaze concentrating on their joined hands. His thumb brushes across Magnus’ ringed fingers. “He will go to the mortuary here at the hospital,” he states softly. “Until proper arrangements with a funeral director are made, he will be there.” He takes another deep breath. “If you so desire, there is an option for a mortician to do an autopsy as well, to further assess the cause of death.”

Magnus shuts his eyes, biting his lip harshly as the words sink in. They hurt, and with each mention of death and funerals Magnus’ heart withers in his chest just a little bit more.

“I can’t…I can’t make that decision,” Magnus shakes his head. “A-Ask Cat or Raphael but I—” He chokes on the words before he can finish, and Alec only gives a reassuring squeeze to his hands in silent support.

“Dr. Lightwood,” a nurse—Simon—knocks on the door twice. Magnus doesn’t look up, but he can hear the distinct sadness prevalent in Simon’s voice. “Ms. Loss and Mr. Santiago want to talk with you.”

Alec gives a nod, turning back to Magnus. “ _ Hey, _ ” he whispers softly, hand coming up to caress Magnus’ cheek. His hands are warm, despite how cold the rest of the room feels, and Magnus leans into the touch just so. “I have to go talk with them. But if you need  _ anything _ just call for me.”

He can only manage a silent nod as a reply, and Alec leans forward to press a chaste, singular kiss to Magnus’ lips. It’s both exactly what he needs and what he doesn’t want right now. He loves Alec’s kisses, but this kiss doesn’t radiate warmth like all the others. It’s sad and leaves only bitter coldness in its wake.

Alec leaves the room after that, and Magnus is once again left in deadly silence. He hates not hearing the heart monitor, the pulse of a ventilator in the air anymore. He hates not having the TV on, not having  _ Family Matters _ reruns playing and laughing when Steve Urkel goes on that ‘non-date’ with Laura in the first season. He hates the silence.

He hates death.

Magnus’ eyes glance back over to the bed, back over to Ragnor’s calm and stoic expression. It’s strange, because this is perhaps the most peaceful he’s seen Ragnor since he’s been in the hospital. There’s no trace of worry in his brows, no ventilator strapped to his body or mask covering his face. His hair is wonderfully disheveled too—as Magnus hadn’t had the opportunity to ask one of the nurses for a comb yet. It reminds Magnus of the various times he’d been over to Ragnor’s in the weeks before his first drafts of his books were due. The man would run himself into the ground writing, falling asleep on books or across couches, pen still in hand and—

And now he won’t ever get to see Ragnor like that again. Because he’s dead. He’s gone and Magnus is left here with his memories and regret.

Magnus crosses the space between him and Ragnor, reaching out once more to take Ragnor’s cold hand in his. He brushes against the skin gently, leaning forward and resting his head against the back of Ragnor’s hand.

“ _ I’m so sorry, _ ” he whispers out harshly. “ _ I’m so sorry, Ragnor. I’m— _ ”

“Magnus,” Catarina’s voice echoes out.

“ _ I wasn’t good enough to be there for you. I wasn’t here— _ "

“Magnus,” she calls once more.

His hands are shaking. He can’t leave. He  _ can’t _ . If he leaves now…that’s it. It becomes reality. They’ll wheel Ragnor out of the room and deliver him to some metal fridge to prepare him for a funeral and Magnus can feel his stomach lurch at the thought.

“No…please…just a few more minutes.”

“Magnus, come on.”

“ _ Please _ ,” he pleads, holding Ragnor’s cold hand in his warm ones. “Just a little bit longer. I still…I still haven’t—”

“Magnus,” Catarina calls once more, a bit more firmly this time. “Let him go.”

When her hands press against his shoulders, Magnus stiffens.  _ No, _ he thinks,  _ not yet. It’s too soon. It’s— _

Before he can process it, both Catarina and Raphael are there, carefully inserting themselves between him and his dear friend. They start gently, trying to guide him away from the bed, but Magnus persists. It’s only when they pry him away further that Magnus’ movements grow just a hint desperate. He can’t let Ragnor go, not yet. He still hasn’t apologized, he—

Magnus can feel his grip falter, and he cries out painfully, wrecked sobs wrenching from his lungs as Ragnor’s fingers slip from his. His hands are shaking and he’s pushing against bodies and shoving and crying out for Ragnor. He can feel the pitying stares at his desperate and pitiful attempts to reach back out to a man already long gone.

Catarina and Raphael somehow manage to reel him back, to ease him out of the doorway and out of sight from Ragnor’s corpse. But he remains adamant, pushing against them. He manages to snag his arm away from Raphael, running forward. Catarina, however, catches him before he can run back in, blocking him from the room.

“Let me back in, Cat!” Magnus yells, pushing against her. “I still haven’t—!”

“He’s gone, Magnus!” she yells back, cutting him off.

Frustration pulses through him. “I know he’s gone!” he shouts. “He’s gone, and all I wanted was a moment alone just to apologize for what an ass I was to him! I just wanted to mourn my friend who I cared deeply for, who I spent hours crying over and watching over until his final breath!” He steps into her space. “Did you even care about him?! You weren’t even  _ here _ for him when he died! You don’t even care that—!”

Magnus’ sentence is cut short as a harsh clap rings through the air. Suddenly, he’s no longer looking at Catarina. His head has turned; his cheek prickles with the slightest hint of pain and—

_ Oh. _

Catarina slapped him.

“Hey!” another voice rings out. Magnus turns back to Catarina to see that Raphael has wedged himself between the both of them. He looks between Magnus and Catarina sternly. “That’s enough!”

Catarina’s brows furrow together, shoulders tense and her frustration evident. Her mind seems to catch up with her actions, because a moment later she is casting her eyes down and away from Magnus, the slightest traces of regret visible.

Raphael turns back to Magnus. “Look, we  _ know _ you’re mourning. We’re  _ all _ mourning. You know that Cat comes here on all her breaks, stays with him when she has to work the night shift. She’s here every moment you aren’t. So don’t you dare accuse her of not caring.” His gaze is stern and unwavering as he speaks, and Magnus can’t help but hang his head in shame.

“ _ I’m sorry, _ ” he whispers out. “ _ I’m so sorry, Cat. _ ”

Raphael steps forward, pressing a gentle hand on Magnus’ arm. “Let me drive you home,” he offers. “I think we all need a bit of time away from here.”

Magnus’ eyes meet Raphael’s. “But what about—?”

“I’ll deal with it,” Raphael diffuses. “Ragnor left a will and instructions of how he wanted to be buried at his home. I’ll talk with the doctors after we get you back home, okay?”

Magnus nods silently, and the tense air around them seems to settle slightly. It’s still too quiet, too apparent that someone has died. Magnus looks over towards the door that still remains open. He can see Ragnor’s feet still in the bed, motionless like he has been for the past six months.

But now, he isn’t breathing.

Ragnor is dead, and Magnus can’t do anything to change that.

X

The drive home is relatively quiet. Night has fallen and the forecast for rain has held true. Magnus slumps in the passenger’s seat of Raphael’s 1976 Continental, forehead pressed to the cold window as they drive through the city. As they pass through town, past various storefronts and restaurants, he can recall all the memories he had made there with Ragnor.

He remembers Woods, the upscale restaurant where Ragnor saved him from a date that when horribly wrong. He remembers the arcade, remembers dragging Ragnor in to play Skee-Ball and always losing because Ragnor had some hidden talent for always hitting the 100 pockets. He remembers that old school diner with black-and-white tile and bright colored booths where the four of them would laugh over milkshakes and chocolate cream pies listening to Elvis play on the jukebox. He can remember one late night he jumped up on the table singing and dancing to  _ Blue Suede Shoes _ and how Ragnor was praying to heaven above to save him. Magnus smiles at the memory.

_ That was a good year. _

“Do you remember  _ Ellen’s _ ?” Magnus asks.

Raphael hums. “Their milkshakes were to die for.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “Remember that time you and Cat recreated the performance of  _ Greased Lightnin’ _ when it came up on the jukebox?”

Magnus huffs out a breath. “I did a lot of dancing in that diner. Ragnor did a lot of praying in there too.”

There’s a chuckle in response, but it fades too quickly, letting the sound of the rain pattering against the windshield take over. “It feels like forever since we were last there.”

“Yeah…it’s been about a year, hasn’t it?”

“A little over, actually. The last time we went, you brought Camille, remember?”

Magnus’ stomach turns at the mention of her name. He remembers— _ oh yes _ —he remembers that night. He had brought Camille along to get milkshakes, to meet his friends, to join in singing and dancing along with the jukebox. But no—instead it was tense. Camille didn’t want to dance or sing. Instead, she kept to her sour attitude, demanding to be the center of Magnus’ attention, throwing a fit when he didn’t, and—

_ God _ —he thinks, interrupting his own thoughts— _ what did I ever see in her? _

“Not my best decision,” Magnus admits, and Raphael snickers at that.

“No, admittedly not.”

Silence falls over them once more, nothing but the sound of rain and the fluorescent lights of the town passing over them. Magnus looks down to his hands, thumbs smoothing over the planes of his hands, brushing over the unique rings adorning his fingers.

“We never blamed you, you know.”

Magnus looks back to Raphael, confusion prominent in his features. Raphael keeps his eyes on the road as he continues.

“For Camille, for choosing her over us,” he elaborates. “It was obvious that she wanted you to herself, and she wasn’t going to stop until she got what she wanted.” He slows down to take the turn down the next road. “We knew that you’d go after her. She knew just what to do to get you to follow, knew just what to say to get you to leave us behind and cast us aside.”

Magnus frowns, looking down at the radio between them. “You should’ve,” he replies grimly. “I abandoned you all, the three people who meant the most to me, for someone temporary and fake.”

“You didn’t know.”

Another beat of silence. “Did you know?”

Raphael hums in question.

“About her involvement with drugs,” Magnus elaborates.

Raphael sighs deeply. “I didn’t, but Ragnor did. You know how Ragnor was, he was always able to crack open someone’s mind with a few simple questions.” He shakes his head. “There was always something off about her, and he knew she was hiding something. He had found out through others that she’d often frequent the bars and clubs, and that each week she’d have someone new around her arm. During the Christmas party, he caught her snorting crushed up pills from her purse.” He swallows. “He informed us not too long after.”

Magnus folds in on himself, brushing his hands up his arms and sinking back into the leather seats. He casts his eyes down, watching as the lights dance across his lap.

“Did you know she tried to get me to do drugs again?”

Though the question comes out barely audible, the car still jerks slightly in response. Magnus steadies himself, fearful eyes glancing back at Raphael, who still has his eyes set to the road. His jaw is clenched, eyes reflecting a form of muted anger he hasn’t seen in a long time. He can see Raphael’s grip on the wheel tighten slightly.

“Did you?”

Raphael’s voice is sandpaper, and Magnus can tell just how much anger and remorse Raphael holds inside the words.

“No,” Magnus diffuses quickly. “ _ God no _ , I—” He shakes his head, looking out the passenger’s side window once more. “I was close,” he admits, “but what Ragnor had said to me when we were fighting came back to me. He told me she was bad news, that she’d get me back into drugs after working so hard to be sober, and I didn’t listen until the evidence was right in front of me.”

He rests his head against the pane of the glass again and sighs.

“Ragnor was right,” he says quietly. “I’m just a fool.”

Raphael slows down as they turn onto Magnus’ street, where his townhouse apartment stands out against the night with its white exterior and black trim. He pulls over into one of the empty spots, taking his time to ensure his car is fully out of the way before shifting the gear. As he stills the car, he turns to Magnus, expression full of seriousness.

“Ragnor never thought you were a fool, Magnus.”

“Yes, he did,” Magnus insists. “He said it to me. During our fight—”

“You both said things you didn’t mean,” Raphael finishes. “Unless you truly thought that he was ‘ _ a bitter, self-entitled bastard who wouldn’t understand the concept of loving someone _ ’. Did you?”

Magnus’ shoulders slump. “No.” He sighs again, looking up towards his home. “The man was capable of feeling things others couldn’t.” Magnus presses his head to the glass again. “But just because I was wrong doesn’t mean he was either.”

“Magnus—”

“Thank you for taking me home,” Magnus cuts quickly, effectively cutting Raphael’s thought off. He looks over to give a quick smile, one that disappears far too quickly before promising half-heartedly to call him and Catarina later. With a nod and a quiet goodbye, he opens the door, stepping out into the rain—which has eased up just a bit—and up to his front door. He unlocks the door and steps inside. As he turns to shut the door, he meets Raphael’s gaze once more. There’s a silent plea from Raphael—exactly what plea, Magnus doesn’t know.

With one last glance to his friend, he closes the door.

X

Sleep comes easy to Magnus.

Which—considering everything that’s happened—is ironic. He has never been able to sleep well, especially since Ragnor was hospitalized. But Ragnor’s death weighs heavy on him, and once he stumbles into his apartment, sheds his clothes, and falls onto the duvet, his eyes flutter shut and he sleeps.

There’s no telling how long he sleeps for. Whether it’s ten minutes or an hour, it’s still dark when he wakes up. He manages to pull himself up from the cushioned sheets with surprising ease; and with another long, full-bodied yawn, he pads over into his bathroom.

As he starts the shower, he turns back to the vanity mirror to take in his unkempt and disheveled appearance. His makeup has smeared, trails of smudged black kohl running down his cheeks and rubbed around his eyelids. His hair is a mess, the gel still left in it angling it in all different directions. His eyes are soulless, lifeless, full of sorrow and pain and agony. He can’t tell if he looks like a sad, watered-down racoon or the next  _ It _ .

Nevertheless, it all vanishes with a few swipes of a makeup wipe. Perfectly bare, he steps into the shower, under the water that is far too hot. He lets the water bounce across his skin, turning it red and letting the steam fog up against the glass, against the thoughts swirling in his head. He loses himself in it for a while until he’s perfectly clean, any traces of the hospital erased from his skin.

The need for food is what pulls him away from the sauna of the bathroom. He hasn’t gone to the store yet, so there’s only a couple of old leftovers that he should really throw out and some microwave popcorn. He heats it quickly, then settles back on the couch with a heavy quilt over his lap. Magnus reaches for the remote as he wedges himself back against the comfortable cushions of the couch, clicking the TV on. The program that appears on screen makes his stomach lurch.

_ Grease. _

He thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to distract himself from what happened. That for just a moment he could forget his friend died. But the world thinks differently, and out of all the programs on TV showing on a late night,  _ this _ is the one that so happens to come up.

Now Magnus doesn’t hate  _ Grease. _ He loves it; always has and always will. The music and the style resonate within him, giving him that child-like joy that someone gets when they’re happy. The memories that come with  _ Grease _ are also good: dancing and singing in Ellen’s during the late-night hours when no one but the night shift is there.  _ Grease _ comes with the memories of Ragnor, reminders of the times where Magnus was able to pull him up from the booth and serenade him with  _ Sandy _ . He remembers Ragnor’s frown had turned into a smile and a low laugh the second Magnus pressed against him and emotionally sang about losing his love.

_ Those were the happy days. _

Lost in the memories of the past, Magnus doesn’t even hear his phone go off at first. But as  _ You’re the One that I Want _ fades out, his phone pings once.

Twice.

Magnus shakes himself from his thoughts, muting the TV and rising from the couch to grab his phone from where it sits on the coffee table.

His first thought is  _ oh—it’s the next day. _ He didn’t just sleep a few hours, he slept for almost an entire day. The lock screen on his phone already shows him the bundles of notifications he has. There are texts from Catarina, one of an apology and a couple others as offers to spend time together. Raphael sends a couple too. Their calm, collected, exactly the kind of texts he always sends. Scrolling down a bit, he can see that he has a missed call and voicemail from Alec.

He should really call Alec back.

Magnus sighs, unlocking his phone as he lies back against the couch once more.

The little red notification contrasts against the green phone app, staring back at him longingly. With a deep breath, he clicks on the app, opening the calls he’s received. He flips to the voicemail to listen to what message Alec had let him but stops, thumb hovering over the other voicemails still saved in his phone.

_ Ragnor – Voicemail _

He hasn’t listened to it once within the year since they fought. He remembers getting the call, letting it deliberately go to voicemail because he just knew that Ragnor would throw it in his face, how he was right about Camille and Magnus was wrong. He had let it go and wiped it from his memory, deeming it unimportant during that time.

Seeing the voicemail on his phone now leaves a sickening feeling in his stomach.

With a deep breath, Magnus presses Ragnor’s voicemail, putting it on speaker and laying it on his sternum. There’s a second of brief silence before the charming tone of his friend’s voice echoes in the room.

> “ _ Magnus, _
> 
> _ I know things have been difficult lately, and I’m sorry about that. I know how much Camille meant to you, and how heartbreaking it must have been to know the kind of person she really was. I’m aware that you may have deliberately declined this call. Perhaps you were scared I’d say something brash, throw mistakes that you aren’t responsible for back in your face. With the way we had left things, I wouldn’t be surprised. _
> 
> _ So allow me to apologize. Forgive me for making it seem like I would throw those mistakes back in your face. Ever since you were a young boy, you’ve carried the blame for mistakes that were never yours, carried so many burdens you didn’t deserve to bear. I know that more than anyone else. _
> 
> _ I know you must also blame yourself for the distance that came between us. We both made mistakes that night, said things that we both regretted. But I want you to know that I still consider you one of my dearest friends, Magnus. Even in the months we haven’t spoken, there hasn’t been a moment where I wasn’t thinking of you. _
> 
> _ Though you may not forgive yourself for the things that happened, I want you to know that I forgive you. I forgive you, Magnus, for everything. _
> 
> _ I know you may not believe me when I say that. You have this horrendous tendency to put yourself down, to let the mistakes and burdens you carry weigh you down and crush you until you can hardly breathe. But I mean every word I say to you, Magnus. I forgive you for the awful words we exchanged, and I forgive you for shutting me out. I forgive you for all of it because you deserve it. You deserve to be happy. _
> 
> _ I want you to know that you are worthy of a great deal, my friend. You have risen from the hell that is addiction and have made a life that is all your own. For that, I am nothing but proud of you, Magnus. I am proud of your journey, your strength, and your ability to fight through anything despite its challenges. You try to be better, and dare I say that you inspire me to do the same. _
> 
> _ I have always believed that good things happen to good people. I believe you are one of those people. If anyone is destined for greatness, it’s you, dear friend. Good things will come to you, I know this to be true. Though it may take time and it may seem impossible at first, they will find you. _
> 
> _ And like good things, love will find you just the same. I know you may laugh at that, convince yourself you’re unworthy of love. But I believe that someday, someone will come along who will tear down the walls you’ve built around your heart. When that loves comes back for you, you must do everything to fight for it. _
> 
> _ So continue to fight, Magnus. Continue to fight for a life that I know you are worthy of. You are destined to do great things, and know that wherever those things take you, I will always be here for you.” _

The voicemail cuts off then, blanketing the apartment in silence once more. But Magnus doesn’t concentrate on the silence. Instead he drowns in the ache that blooms in his chest, the emotions that bubble up and spill out from his lungs. His gaze—once locked on the ceiling above—grows hazy, clouded by the tears that pool in his eyes. He can feel them run down the sides of his face, their heat searing his skin as he thinks of Ragnor’s words.

_ Ragnor forgave him _ .

Ragnor forgave him for everything, and Magnus hadn’t even bothered to listen. He had brushed it off and thought it better to push Ragnor away than to face his friend. And now, now it was too late.

Ragnor is dead.

Magnus presses the back of his hand to his mouth as he sobs loudly, body convulsing painfully under the weight of emotions in his chest. He cries until the tears can’t continue, instead heaving out harsh, shuddered breaths in the silence. He fumbles for the phone, listening to Ragnor’s voice once more. Though his voice is calm, it’s sad, regretful.

Magnus did that to him.

He made Ragnor feel like that.

What a disgrace he is.

He listens over and over, repeating the voicemail and just listening to his friend talk.  _ God, _ he can remember just hours earlier he was holding his hand in that hospital, talking to him about everything and nothing. Now Magnus just feels dirty, like he didn’t even deserve to come back. Ragnor thought so highly of him, forgave him for everything and yet Magnus just cast him aside over some stupid argument.

This is his fault.

The torrent of self-deprecation is an endless onslaught, like needles in his skin, like tar in his lungs. He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts he isn’t even aware his phone dies on his sternum until Ragnor’s voice cuts off midway through, stopping just before he’s started to speak.

Magnus lets out a huff at the irony.

He rises from the couch then, letting his phone thud to the floor. His feet carry him to the kitchen, searching for anything and everything to help him find release. He could’ve sworn there was a bottle from when—

Magnus looks down to the cabinet that’s been locked for ages, the one Catarina has the key to and the one that’s been locked for almost seven years and counting.

It’s all his fault.

The hopelessness and anger bubble and mix together, and soon he’s dropping to his knees, onto the tiled floor and banging against the cupboard surface relentlessly, begging it to open. It doesn’t give under his harmless pushing, so he beats it harder, more intensely. He can hear the cracks amongst his pained cries and yells, can feel the wood splinter and feel a burn as his hands finally burst through the surface. He nearly falls forward as the cabinet gives, and the crisp sound of glass clinking echoes out into the empty space.

With thoughts that won’t forgive him, he reaches in, ignoring the blood that patters from his bruised and bloodied hands to the floor. His fingers wrap around a bottle, pulling it out.

Magnus hasn’t held vodka in seven years. Hell, he hasn’t even held a glass of liquor since then. He can see the label gleaming back at him, the half full bottle of clear liquid sloshing beneath it.

He really shouldn’t be doing this. It’d be destroying the progress he had made.

But he can’t live with this, these thoughts. These endless thoughts that keep plaguing him. He can’t stop thinking about how foolish he was, how he pushed away his best friend and caused him to die. He’s responsible for this. He killed an innocent man.

_ I forgive you, Magnus. _

As Ragnor’s words echo in his mind, he wretches out another sob, twisting off the cap and throwing it off somewhere.

He can’t do this anymore.

He brings the bottle to his lips and drinks.

X


	5. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ Magnus shakes his head, looking back down to his paper. "I never deserved a friend like Ragnor, but god am I glad I had him." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> livetweet using the hashtag #ntsbfic !!

X

Magnus pretends like he’s still sober.

He’s amazed that Catarina and Raphael haven’t caught on. Maybe they have, he thinks, and they just aren’t doing anything to stop him. It’s been like this for almost two weeks: Magnus drowning himself with a bottle of vodka or whiskey—whatever he can get his hands on really—then pretending that he’s sober, that he’s just some sad and miserable fuck who’s lost his best friend. Maybe it’s a bit of that, because he is sad over Ragnor. But he also can’t bear to live with himself anymore. He can’t take the endless calls from funeral homes and directors asking if he wants Ragnor cremated or not. He can’t bear the thought of seeing Ragnor in a casket or being burned down to ash like some sort of Salem witch.

He can’t take the horror that is reality anymore, but neither can he recede into his mind. His mistakes and failures play on loop in his brain. It’s all too much and he needs something,  _ anything _ to escape the nightmare that is his life.

So, he drinks.

And he finds himself here once more, this time on the sofa with a bottle of tequila in his hand letting some dumbass rom-com play on Netflix. He’s not really watching it intently but does laugh drunkenly when Sandra Bullock and Betty White dance around a fire singing  _ Get Low _ .

Just as he tilts the bottle back to guzzle down another gulp of tequila, there’s a series of knocks at his door. He doesn’t immediately register the noise—blame it on his slightly-drunken haze—but when the sound echoes out again, he places the bottle down on the table.

His brows furrow together. He wasn’t expecting anyone to visit, was he? Catarina had a shift at the hospital and Raphael was doing his weekly visitation to the nursing home. So who…?

Magnus is up before he can really process it, drunkenly stepping over his feet and hugging onto the wall until he’s at the door. He should really look through the peephole, see who it is before opening, but he doesn’t. Instead, he spends a good minute fumbling open the lock before pulling the door back, faltering slightly before leaning against the door for balance.

“Magnus?”

His gaze saunters up that familiar frame, those long legs and strong frame, up to that messy hair and emerald-hazel eyes. There’s a small stutter in his chest at the sight, and he can’t help the dopey smile that winds up the corners of his lips.

“Alexander,” Magnus greets with a suppressed giggle. “What’re you doing here so late?”

Alec gives a bewildered look. “Magnus…are you drunk?”

Magnus sputters. “I’m perfectly fine, darling. And you are too, if I don’t say so myself,” he adds, taking in Alec’s simple maroon sweater and black skinny jeans combo.

Alec’s brows furrow together as his lips turn down in a frown. “You aren’t even supposed to be drinking, Magnus, what are you—?” He cuts his sentence off short as he paces into Magnus’ apartment. Suddenly the reality of his addiction, the horrors of his depression are made apparent with the empty bottles in the kitchen and the half-empty tequila bottle on the coffee table. It’s a mess; a complete and utter mess.

“ _ Oh my god, _ ” Alec breathes out, placing down the plastic bag of take out he has. He rushes over to the coffee table, taking the tequila in hand before racing back to the kitchen.

“Wait, what’re you doing?!” Magnus slurs a bit, racing after him. He’s too disoriented to get too far, the tequila swirling his thoughts; however, he’s conscious enough to get to the island of the kitchen and watches as Alec pours the rest of the tequila down the drain.

“I’m getting rid of this,” Alec says, letting the last few gurgles of tequila pour down the drain. He shakes the bottle empty before turning around, searching the kitchen for any more alcohol.

“ _ Why? _ ” Magnus questions in a sob.

“Because if I don’t, you’ll have the temptation to drink again and—”

“ _ Why _ ?!” Magnus cries out again, a bit louder this time. It stops Alec from searching, and he turns to see Magnus slide down the door frame of the kitchen, folding in on himself and sobbing loudly.

“Magnus,” Alec calls softly, his shoulders drooping as he rushes over to Magnus. He crouches next to him, carefully pressing a hand to Magnus’ shoulder. “Hey, talk to me.”

“Why…why did you come?” Magnus sobs. “Why didn’t you just leave me here to drown my sorrows? Why won’t you let me just die in my misery?”

Alec’s eyes go wide then in shock as Magnus voices his thoughts. He doesn’t want anyone here, he just wants to be alone and wallow in his guilt. He wants to drink until he can’t feel the pain of Ragnor’s passing, until he can’t feel the gaping hole in his heart. He just wants it all to end.

“How much have you had?” Alec asks, tone slightly panicked. He tilts Magnus’ face up to meet his gaze. “Magnus, please, tell me. How much alcohol have you had?”

Magnus closes his eyes and winces. “Just that bottle,” he admits. “I didn’t have anything else.”

There’s a sigh of relief from Alec as he sits back on the floor. “ _ Oh thank God, _ ” he breathes out. “I was worried I’d have to call the hospital.”

Magnus curls up around himself, placing his forehead on his knees. “What if I died from alcohol poisoning?” he questions softly. “Do you think the funeral home would even take me in? I’m just some sad, miserable fuck who decided that life was better off without me.”

The beat of silence that hangs between them is heavy, and Magnus is hyperaware of every sound, the distant chatter of the TV from the living room, the drip of the faucet every 17 seconds, the slight hitch of breath that comes from Alec as if he’s about to speak.

“ _ Magnus, _ ” Alec calls, voice completely fractured. Magnus’ eyes widen as he looks up to see Alec looking at him, eyes full of fear and sadness. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly, as if he’s trying to find the words. He leans closer, breath unsteady as he inches over to Magnus. “Please,  _ please _ don’t say that,” he pleads brokenly, taking Magnus’ hands in his own. “Please don’t say you’re better off dead because you’re not. You’re such a good person and—

“No I’m not,” Magnus disagrees, shaking his head side to side. “I’m not…”

The statement is followed by a hiccupping sob, and soon after the tears start falling from where they’ve been building against his eyelashes. He cries, soul completely shattered and exposed. He shakes, unable to hold back his emotions under the haze of intoxication.

Alec pulls him in then, taking in his shaking and sobbing frame. It’s odd on the floor like this, and they move so he’s practically in Alec’s lap now. Alec’s hands are on him, pressing against him and cradling him close. Magnus all but falls into him, pressing against Alec so that their chest to chest. He can feel Alec fall into it too, the tip of his nose brushing against the junction connecting Magnus’ neck to his shoulder. Magnus repeats the gesture, hiding himself away from the outside world as he cries. Alec breathes in deeply, hugging him as he soundlessly comforts Magnus.

“I’m such an awful person,” Magnus sobs into the crook of Alec’s neck. “He forgave me for everything, for all my fuck ups and mistakes. He forgave me a long time ago, almost a year before he died and—” his breath shudders. “I shut him out. He forgave me but I was too selfish and stupid to open that damn voicemail. Now…Now I’m too late.”

Alec’s arms tighten around him. “That’s not your fault, Magnus.”

“It is,” he whispers hoarsely. “He had so much faith in me, said that I was ‘destined for greatness’.” He huffs out a singular breath, drawing away from Alec. He casts his gaze around the apartment, around the mess he had made. “But look at me. I’m an alcoholic who relapsed the moment things got bad. I was sober for seven years, Alexander.  _ Seven years _ . And now I’ve ruined that.” He shakes his head. “If there’s anything I’m destined for, it’s drinking myself to death.”

“Magnus,” Alec says sternly, taking Magnus’ hand in his own. “Addiction isn’t an easy battle. Relapses happen. But you know what? That doesn’t make you any less of an individual. And yes, Ragnor forgave you a long time ago. But a long time ago you were also scared to reach out because the fight you two had. Ragnor eventually forgave you as time passed. After a while, you had too, didn’t you?”

Magnus sniffles harshly, wordlessly nodding because he can’t seem to manage the words anymore. He watches as Alec’s soft touches against his hands soothe him. Alec is right, Magnus had forgiven Ragnor a long time ago. He had been so mad last year, so angry and upset at him. He would blame Ragnor for the distance, shove the blame onto someone else so he wouldn’t have to deal with the loss of his best friend. Then when he left Camille, the blame shifted to himself. This distance wasn’t Ragnor’s fault at all, it was Magnus’. He was the reason he lost his best friend.

He had forgiven Ragnor then, all those months ago. But he never reached out. Maybe it had been his pride that prevented him from reconnecting initially. But after the incident with Camille, pride turned to shame and fear. How could he have faced Ragnor after all he had said and done to him? Magnus recalls the thought, squeezing around Alec’s hands lightly as his head falls between his shoulders.

“It was my fault,” Magnus forces out, throat scratchy as the words come up jagged and fragmented. “I lost my best friend and I was too scared to reach out to him.” His lower lip trembles, frame quaking once more under the intensity of his emotions. “I lost him, Alexander, the only person who was there for me, I—” his breath shudders. “I lost him.  _ I lost him _ .”

Magnus descends back into a litany of shuddered gasps and broken sobs. Tears slide down his cheeks and their heat burns his eyelids. Alec coos softly, with soft hushes and whispers as his warm hands frame his face, wipe his tears, and embrace his frame. Magnus closes his eyes, falling back into Alec’s embrace as they lie on the kitchen floor. He cries, sobbing into the crook of Alec’s neck until his eyes are heavy and his body is unable to move. As the peaceful lull of sleep pulls at his eyelids, Magnus hears Alec whisper into his ear, cradling him closer.

“ _ I’ll be here for you, Magnus. Always. _ ”

And in that moment, Magnus might just believe him.

X

“You know, I think Sandra Bullock and Betty White dancing around a fire singing  _ Get Low _ is peak cinematography.”

Magnus can’t help but laugh at that, resting his head back against Alec’s chest. He’s sobered up a bit after crying his eyes out and—according to Alec—falling asleep for a few hours. He still has a headache, a dull throb pounding in his skull; but some aspirin, a glass of water, and the takeout Alec brought helps tremendously.

“I’m surprised you’ve even seen this movie,” he says. “I never took you for a rom-com type of guy.”

Alec gives a half-hearted shrug. “Perks of growing up with a sister I guess,” he states plainly, eyes casting back up to the TV. Ryan Reynolds just happens to startle Sandra Bullock mid booty shake and he can’t help but chuckle. It turns into a sigh not a moment later. “When my sister would relapse, I’d always be with her like this: curled up on a couch stuffing our faces with food—usually ice cream. I’d help her sweat it out with endless reruns of Ms. Congeniality.”

Magnus sputters. “Really?”

“Really,” Alec agrees. “We’d just eat Häagen Dazs until we were sick and watch Sandra Bullock fail miserably at being a pageant girl.”

Just imagining Alec curled up with a tub of ice cream watching Ms. Congeniality has him biting back a smile. “Are we sure we’re talking about Alec Lightwood? The Alec I know isn’t exactly ‘warm and fuzzy’,” he jokes.

Alec laughs again at that, the rumble sending vibrations through Magnus’ frame. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he smiles. “Yeah, well, my co-workers at the hospital don’t often see me outside of work.” He wraps his arms around Magnus, pulling him just a tad closer. “My boyfriend, on the other hand,” he starts in a whisper that has Magnus suppressing a shiver, “should know how much of a sap I am.”

As Alec presses a kiss to the patch of skin just under Magnus’ jaw, Magnus retorts. “You’re practically a tree at this point: tall and sappy.”

They share another laugh as Alec presses featherlight kisses to Magnus’ neck, as he gently brushes his fingers against Magnus’ sides that’s the slightest bit ticklish. The feeling of laughing, of giddiness feels like a complete 180 from just hours before. Magnus enjoys Alec’s presence, his ability to be here, to comfort and support and just be there for him. Not once has he ever placed blame on Magnus for relapsing. Not once did he ever claim that he didn’t love Magnus any less.

“Thank you,” Magnus sighs as his laughter subsides.

Alec hums, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ hair. “For what?”

“For this. In many of the relapses I’ve experienced, I received pitying stares, blame place on me…no one was really there for me when I needed it most.” Magnus looks down to their joined hands with a fond smile, brushing the pad of his thumb against the skin lightly. “But then I met you.”

He can feel Alec’s heat as Alec embraces him. “I meant what I said earlier,” Alec mutters quietly. “I will be here for you whenever you need me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Magnus’ bottom lip quivers at the words. He turns, breaking away from Alec’s embrace to face, hazel-green doe eyes staring up at him. Magnus cradles Alec’s face in his hands, thumbs gently brushing over his stubble.

“ _ I love you, Alexander, _ ” Magnus confesses.

“ _ I love you too, Magnus, _ ” Alec replies sincerely, words as gentle as the touch against Magnus’ back.

It’s then that Magnus leans in, closing the distance between them. The kiss is soft, gentle and warm in a way that feels like home. Magnus sighs quietly against Alec, taking Alec’s lower lip between his to deepen the kiss ever-so-slightly. Alec’s hands are a solid weight against the small of his back, fingertips brushing just under the hem of Magnus’ shirt.

They exchange a few more kisses like that, lazily exchanging languid movements until Magnus is left breathless. He’s never had this, this solidarity and this domestic intimacy in the most vulnerable moments. But now he has it. He has this love that leaves him aching in the best way, a love that he wants to fight for, to—

_ Oh. _

Magnus breaks the kiss, pulling back so suddenly that Alec chases his lips. As he pulls back, those dark lashes flutter open, and those hazel eyes glow up at him.

_ Oh. _

_ Ragnor was right. _

Alec opens his mouth in silent question, but before he can say the words, Magnus presses another kiss—deeper than the last—to Alec’s lips. It’s just a touch desperate, and by the end of it, Magnus is panting and burying his face in the crook of Alec’s neck.

Things seem to slow down after that, and the two of them mold against each other, lying against Magnus’ couch and letting  _ The Proposal _ play in the background. By the time the movie ends, the silence returns, and Magnus savors the steady inhale and exhale of Alec’s breathing under him.

“Alexander?”

“Hm?”

“Will you come to the funeral with me?” he asks solemnly. He turns so his cheek presses to the plane of Alec’s chest, listening to the steady pulse of his heartbeat. “I know you didn’t know him personally but…you gave Ragnor six months of life he wouldn’t have had otherwise. You watched over him and cared for him. I just—maybe it’s selfish of me to ask, but it would mean a lot to me for you to be there.”

Alec shifts underneath him, and Magnus moves to look at him. He meets Alec’s eyes, and he watches as Alec looks over the features of his face. A warm hand comes to caress his cheek before he speaks.

“Of course,” Alec says softly, his tone serious. “Of course I’ll be there. I know how much Ragnor meant to you, and I know how important it is to have people to rely on in times like these.” He looks down to weave their hands together. “I will be here for you always, Magnus. I don’t think I can say that enough.”

Magnus smiles at the words, heart aching as he leans into Alec’s touch. He takes a deep breath before placing a tender kiss to Alec’s palm, muttering a barely-audible  _ thank you _ .

They slip back into the silence after that, letting another Netflix movie play across the screen. Magnus relaxes, laying his head against Alec’s broad chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat and his lungs expanding as he breathes.

Alec is here.

Alec is alive.

And Magnus is eternally grateful to have him by his side.

X

The funeral is beautiful.

Magnus comes to that conclusion as he sits in the church, looking at the garlands of flowers given by his coworkers and distant relatives. The casket Ragnor sits in is a sleek, dark mahogany that isn’t too flashy. The upper portion remains open for a while, for people to come up and whisper small words to the body. Magnus watches on in silence as people come up, as the steady thrum of guitar instrumental resonates in the area.

Alec slides his hand across the back of Magnus’, and Magnus glances down as they lower the door to the casket, hiding Ragnor’s frame from his view for the very last time. He takes in a deep breath, turning over his hand to intertwine his fingers with Alec’s. Alec gives a reassuring squeeze, and Magnus smiles at the action.

_ I will be here for you, Magnus. Always. _

With Alec’s words echoing in his ears, the service begins. Eliot reads out a few passages of text referring to death, to the thought that it isn’t the end of the line for someone. It sends many into tears, and by the time he finishes, Magnus wonders if he can even do this. He feels the least qualified. After all, he hadn’t spoken to Ragnor in almost a year before the call. He had shut Ragnor out, let his anger and fear and regret bubble over inside him and making him incapable of reaching out.

In what world was he qualified to speak here?

What right did he have?

Before he can really process it, heads are turning in his way. Eliot’s lips move, though he can’t really hear the sound behind it. Alec presses another squeeze to his hand, leaning forward to whisper to him.

“ _ You can do this, _ ” he encourages. “ _ You can do this. _ ”

He gives another squeeze to Magnus’ hand before pulling away. Magnus takes a deep breath then, rising on shaky legs from the front pew. He keeps his eyes down, trained on the carpet until his feet reach the felt-covered stairs. He’s right beside the casket now, and he has to restrain a sob at its commanding presence in the room.

Magnus pushes himself up those couple of stairs, onto the raised stage area. It’s horrendously quiet as he reaches the podium, and as he looks up, he sees the sea of fifty or so faces that look back at him, all of them reflecting sadness. He finds Catarina and Raphael sitting close towards Alec, giving them a tight-lipped smile before he’s fishing out the paper in his pocket, crumpled and distressed from all the times he had folded it the night before.

With another deep inhale, he unfurls the paper.

“Hi,” he starts timidly. “I uh…my name is Magnus Bane, and Ragnor Fell was the best friend I ever had.” He looks down to his paper, fighting the tears that are already building in his eyes and giving a sad smile. “If you ever saw us together, you wouldn’t have guessed it. Or maybe you would. We bickered like an old married couple, and I remember one Christmas I gave him a Ring Pop and proposed.” A small series of chuckles echo in the room, and Magnus bites back a fond smile at the memory. “He promptly rejected me, of course, and I was completely heartbroken afterwards.”

Fingers worrying the corner of the paper, he continues. “I met him in the prime of my addiction. I had been buying copious amounts of alcohol and drugs, and I couldn’t see myself out from the darkness I had been surrounded in.” His brows furrow as he looks back down. Insecurity flares in him at admitting the reality of his addiction, but he pushes away the feeling.

This isn’t about him, it’s about Ragnor.

“I remember the first time I overdosed after I met him. I woke up strapped to the bed, since I had tried to take my life on one occasion before. I was hooked up with wires and fluids and I just wanted to disappear. I had been in that same position a few times before, and I had always been alone.” He swallows thickly, looking back up. “But this time, Ragnor was right there. He was the first person I saw when I woke up, and the first person to be there for me when I needed it most.”

Magnus nods minutely, and his bottom lip quivers as the first tears of many falls down his cheek. “He was always like that, always there when you needed him. He always gave the best advice, and always told it to you straight, even if you didn’t want to hear it. It’d sometimes result in arguments, but in the end, he’d always be right.” He takes a moment to breathe in steadily before sighing out and continuing. “The last time I spoke with Ragnor, we had been in one of those arguments. He was certain that my ex was nothing but trouble, and I was adamant she wasn’t. It drove a wedge between us, so much so that I didn’t even reach out to him for almost a year.”

His lips press together in a firm line as he sniffles harshly, more tears coming down his face. “The next time I heard from him, he’d been admitted to the hospital, a victim of a ruptured aneurysm that caused significant bleeding in his brain.” He sobs audibly, coming up to wipe away some tears on his face. “Despite our fight, he still had me as his emergency contact in case something happened to him. Despite the fact that I had practically spit in his face, he had shown only care and support for me. I hadn’t understood why until a couple of weeks ago, the day after he died. He—Ragnor  _ forgave me. _ ”

Those last two words completely fracture as he says them, and his breath shudders painfully in his chest. “And that— _ that’s _ the kind of friend Ragnor was,” he cries, voice completely shot. “He was the person who cared for you no matter what you threw at him, the one who’d always support you no matter what. He was the kind of person who’d forgive you even if you fucked up beyond compare.” Magnus shakes his head, looking back down to his paper. “I never deserved a friend like Ragnor, but  _ god _ am I glad I had him.”

He looks over to the portrait of Ragnor on display and gives a sad smile. “And yet, all I want is to have one more day with him. I never got to apologize to him for how I acted. For the past six months, I stayed with him in that hospital. I sat in that awfully cold room, in a chair far too uncomfortable and counted the beeps of his heart monitor. I graded papers in that room while watching reruns of  _ Family Matters _ . I nearly punched a doctor in the face in that room when they talked about possible funeral arrangements. I also happened to fall in love in that room.” He looks over to Alec and smiles. “In all that time, I thought maybe, just maybe I could make it up to him. But in the end, it’s no use. I never got to say ‘I’m sorry’.”

_ And I never will _ hangs on the tip of his tongue, but be stills the thought. He looks back down to his paper, across the familiar words that trail across the page. “While I was preparing this big speech, I ended up reading through a lot of Ragnor’s old books. There’s this one he wrote, a biography about his late grandmother who had meant the world to him. If you’ve read the book, you know she died of cancer, but spent a long time in the hospital fighting it. I found this line in that book.”

Magnus takes one more deep breath before he recites it. “ _ ’In the spaces between life and death, we come to understand the importance of our existence just a little bit more’ _ ,” he quotes, nodding shortly afterwards as he folds the paper up once more. “Ragnor spent six months between life and death, and in those months, I came to realize how important of a person he was to me, how important he will always be to me.”

He turns to the photo of Ragnor once more offering up the piece of paper. “So here’s to you, my dear friend. I love you.”

With heart heavy and tears shed, he turns away from the podium, descending the couple of felt stairs on shaky legs. Alec meets him halfway, hand extending out to hold Magnus’. That reassuring, grounding grip returns, and Magnus feels his chest swell in gratitude. He sends a smile to Alec as they sit down, and Alec is pulling out Kleenex’s from his pocket to hand to Magnus.

“ _ That was beautiful _ ,” Alec whispers to him. “ _ Truly. _ ”

Magnus mouths a silent  _ thank you _ in return, and the service continues a bit further. Both Catarina and Raphael speak, and their speeches are perhaps just as emotional as his. By the time they are rising to travel to the graveside, everyone is reaching for tissues. Magnus and Alec rise from the pew, slowly walking towards the masses who flood out the main gate. They silently walk, and as they pass the casket, Magnus can’t help but gaze at it, heart withering in his chest.

This is it.

The end.

X

There’s not a cloud in the sky at the gravesite.

The sun is out, bright and beaming. The birds are chirping, and the wind is minimal. There’s still a bit of chill for late-February, but nothing too bone chilling. It’s ironic—Magnus thinks—that Ragnor’s burial would be on one of the most beautiful days of the year.

It’s a simple service, none too long like the one prior. There are a total of ten people including himself, Alec, Catarina, and Raphael. They sing a couple of songs, one of which is an acapella version of  _ Hallelujah. _ Magnus is sure his voice sounds awful from all the tears he’s shed, but he sings as if he’ll never sing again. By the time the music fades, people are coming up to the casket, laying white stargazer lilies on the polished surface.

He watches as Raphael goes up to the casket first, laying his flower upon the casket. He gives a pat to the casket before leaning down to press a singular kiss to it. Magnus has never seen Raphael display his affection much, but in the times he does, it never fails to make him emotional.

Catarina walks up next, laying her lily against the casket as well. She gives the casket a sad smile, rubbing her hand against the polished surface. Her lips move quietly, whispering things that Magnus can’t quite hear. He can see her crying visibly, and as she mouths a goodbye, she turns to give Magnus a small smile. She turns away a moment later, joining with Raphael as they walk off, leaving just Alec and Magnus behind with the casket.

Somehow, the steps between him and the casket seem miles and miles away. His heart is still missing, and his chest is aching at its absence. He doesn’t want to do this; doesn’t want to say goodbye because he still doesn’t want to believe that  _ Ragnor is gone. _

But he is, that’s the reality he has to face. He has to say goodbye, to live on without him.

So he strides forward, closing the distance between them and laying his white lily against the dark wood of the casket. His hands touch the polished surface. It’s cold, and he could practically hear Ragnor’s complaints about the cold echoing in his head. Wordlessly, Alec comes forward to rest his flower with the others, supporting Magnus with a warm hand to the small of his back.

“It was his time to go,” Magnus starts weakly, eyes trained on his hands as they rest against the casket. “He couldn’t move, couldn’t eat or talk. He could just sit there and think.” His brows furrow together. “Ragnor hated sitting around doing nothing. If he was going to sit somewhere, he’d at least have a good book with him. Maybe he had made up his mind, accepted this reality. Maybe he was ready to go.” His lower lip trembles slightly. “But I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.” His breath shudders again. “I just wanted to apologize to him. With the way things ended between us, I hadn’t properly apologized, not in the way I wanted.” He shakes his head. “I wanted him to hear it, to see him smile once more.”

Alec presses closer to him, kissing his temple. “He could hear you, Magnus. From the day he came out from the coma, he could hear you. He could hear you cry, hear you argue with doctors, hear you read to him. You may not have said it out loud, but your actions proved how much you cared for him, how sorry you were for what happened. He forgave you, Magnus. If he could have spoken in those last six months, I’m sure he would’ve made that clear.” He brings a finger to Magnus’ chin, gently pulling his gaze so that Magnus can see the serious expression he wears. “Everyone wishes they had someone with them to go through the hard times. Ragnor had you every day for the six months he had been fighting. You’re a great friend, Magnus. I’m sure Ragnor thought the same.”

Magnus closes his eyes, thinking back to the day Ragnor died. “He said I was destined for greatness,” he starts, looking up at Alec once more, “for love.”

Alec nods. “You are, Magnus. You are destined to do many great things and love someone heart and soul.” He gives a small smile. “So show everyone that Ragnor was right to have faith in you. Live the life of greatness he believed you could have. Live. If not for yourself, then for Ragnor.”

Magnus nods then, loose tears falling down his cheeks. He turns towards Alec, eyes fluttering shut as Alec wipes away his tears and presses gentle kisses to his cheeks and forehead. He feels Alec’s arms wrap around him, and Magnus lets himself breathe in deeply, taking in the scent of fresh linen cleaning to Alec’s blazer. As his arms wrap around Alec’s, he thinks back to Ragnor’s last words he had spoken in that voicemail, those words he had heard on that oh-so-tragic day.

_ Someday, someone will come along who will tear down the walls you’ve built around your heart. When that love comes back to you, you must do everything to fight for it. _

He feels Alec press a tender kiss to the top of his head, sighing into Alec’s embrace and letting himself be enraptured in Alec’s warmth. As the wind blows through softly, Magnus lets all those emotions, all the heartbreak and loss, flow through him.

In that moment, he finally lets go.

X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say thank you to everyone who took the time to read this fic.
> 
> This fic was an absolute monster. It took me 9 to 10 months to make this, and it is by far the most personal piece of literature I have put out for the internet to read. This fic was a commemoration to several individuals, including two people I had lost within the time of writing this fic. I wanted to write a fic that explored loss, the different ways in which individuals cope, and how they might be able to eventually move on. I went through a lot of different emotions writing this, and I wanted this mammoth of a fic to deliver. I really hope it did.
> 
> I would also like to thank my absolutely wonderful beta, Elle (@bytheangell) and Bri, who also supported me through the process. These lovely ladies put up with so much, and I respect and adore them so much. I would like to thank the readers, for taking the time to read this fic and to take it in its entirety. Thank you to everyone who had been following on twitter, who had participated in the q&a's, who expressed excitement for this fic, who participated in word wars with me, and everyone who helped me get through this monster of a story. I love all of you dearly. 
> 
> Until next time,  
-A

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me over on twitter @the_biconic_mb!


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